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THE HONORABLE 

PETER STIRLING 

AND 

WHAT PEOPLE THOUGHT OF HIM 


BY 

PAUL LEICESTER FORD 



NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 





C op y & 


Copyright, 1894. 

BY 

HENRY HOLT & CO. 


Printed, November, 1923 





THE QUINN ft BODEN COMPANY 
RAHWAY. N. J. 



THOSE DEAR TO BOS, 

AT 

STONEY wolde, 

TURNERS, NEW YORK; 

PIN E H U R ST; 

NORWICH, CONNECTICUT; 

BROOK FARM, 

PROCTORSVILLE, VERMONT; 

AND 

DUNES IDE- 

EASVHAMPTON, NEW YORK, 
THIS BOOK, 

WRITTEN WHILE AMONG THEM 


IS DEDICATED. , 












THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


CHAPTER L 
ROMANCE AND REALITY 

Mr. Pierce was talking. Mr. Pierce was generally 
talking. From the day that his proud mamma had given 
him a sweetmeat for a very inarticulate “goo” which 
she translated into “ papa,” Mr. Pierce had found speech 
profitable. He had been able to talk his nurse into 
granting him every indulgence. He had talked his way 
through school and college. He had talked his wife into 
marrying him. He had talked himself to the head of a 
large financial institution. He had talked his admission 
into society. Conversationally, Mr. Pierce was a suc- 
cess. He could discuss Schopenhauer or cotillion favors; 
St. Paul, the apostle, or St. Paul, the railroad. He had 
cultivated the art as painstakingly as a professional 
musician. He had countless anecdotes, which he in- 
troduced to his auditors by a “ that reminds me of.” He 
had endless quotations, with the quotation marks omitted. 
Finally he had an idea on every subject, and generally a 
theory as well. Carlyle speaks somewhere of an “inar- 
ticulate genius.” He was not alluding to Mr. Pierce. 

Like most good talkers, Mr. Pierce was a tongue 
despot. Conversation must take his course, or he would 
none of it. Generally he controlled. If an upstart en- 
deavored to turn the subject, Mr. Pierce waited till the 
intruder had done speaking, and then quietly, but firmly 
would remark: “Relative to the subject we were dis- 
cussing a moment ago — ” If any one ventured to speak, 
even soito voce, before Mr. Pierce had finished all he had 


B THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

to say, he would at once cease his monologue, wait till 
the interloper had finished, and then resume his lecture 
just where he had been interrupted. Only once had Mr. 
Fierce found this method to fail in quelling even the 
sturdiest of rivals. The recollection of that day is still a 
mortification to him. It had happened on the deck of an 
ocean steamer. For thirty minutes he had fought 
his antagonist bravely. Then, humbled and vanquished, 
he had sought the smoking-room, to moisten his parched 
throat, and solace his wounded spirit, with a star cock- 
tail. He had at last met his superior. He yielded the 
deck to the fog-horn. 

At the present moment Mr. Pierce was having things 
very much his own way. Seated in the standing-room 
of a small yacht, were some eight people. With a leaden 
sky overhead, and a leaden sea about it, the boat gently 
rose and fell with the ground swell. Three miles away 
could be seen the flash-light marking the entrance to the 
harbor. But though slowly gathering clouds told thai 
wind was coming, the yacht now lay becalmed, drifting 
with the ebb tide. The pleasure-seekers had been to- 
gether all day, and were decidedly talked out. For the 
last hour they had been singing songs — always omitting 
Mr. Pierce, who never so trifled with his vocal organs. 
During this time he had been restless. At one point he 
had attempted to deliver his opinion on the /elation of 
verse to music, but an unfeeling member of the party 
had struck up “John Brown’s Body,” and his lecture 
had ended, in the usual serial style, at the most interest- 
ing point, without even the promise of a “continuation 
in our next.” Finally, however, the singers had sung 
themselves hoarse in the damp night air, the last 
“Spanish Cavalier” had been safely restored to his 
inevitable true-love, and the sound of voices and banjo 
floated away over the water. Mr. Pierce’s moment had 
come. 

Some one, and it is unnecessary to mention the sex, 
had given a sigh, and regretted that nineteenth century 
life was so prosaic and unromantic. Clearing his throat, 
quite as much to pre-empt the pause as to articulate the 
better, Mr. Pierce spoke : 

“That modem times are less romantic and interesting 
than bygone centuries is a fallacy. From time imme 


ROMANCE AND REALITY. 3 

morial, love and the battle between evil and good are the 
two things which have given the world romance and 
interest. Every story, whether we find it in the myths 
of the East, the folklore of Europe, the poems of the 
Troubadours, or in our newspaper of this morning, is 
based on one or the other of these factors, or on both 
combined. Now it is a truism that love never played so 
important a part as now in shaping the destinies of 
men and women, for this is the only century in which it 
has obtained even a partial divorce from worldly and 
parental influences. Moreover the great battle of society, 
to crush wrong and elevate right, was never before so 
bravely fought, on so many fields, by so many people as 
to-day. But because our lovers and heroes no longer 
brag to the world of their doings ; no longer stand in the 
moonlight, and sing of their ‘dering does/ the world 
assumes that the days of tourneys and guitars were the 
only days of true love and noble deeds. Even our pro- 
fessed writers of romance join in the cry. 4 Draw life as it 
is/ they say. ‘We find nothing in it but mediocrity, 
selfishness, and money-loving/ By all means let us have 
truth in our novels, but there is truth and truth. Most of 
New York’s firemen presumably sat down at noon to-day 
to a dinner of corned-beef and cabbage. But perhaps one 
of them at the same moment was fighting his way 
through smoke and flame, to save life at the risk of his 
own. Boiled dinner and burned firemen are equally true. 
Are they equally worthy of description? What would 
the age of chivalry be, if the chronicles had recorded only 
the brutality, filthiness and coarseness of their contem- 
poraries ? The wearing of underclothing unwashed till it 
fell to pieces ; the utter lack of soap ; the eating with 
fingers ; the drunkenness and foul-mouthedness that 
drove women from the table at a certain point, and so in- 
augurated the custom, now continued merely as an excuse 
for a cigar ? Some one said once that a man finds in a 
great city just the qualities he takes to it. That’s true of 
romance as well. Modern novelists don’t find beauty 
and nobility in life, because they don’t look for them. 
They predicate from their inner souls that the world is 
* cheap and nasty ’ and that is what they find it to be. 
There is more true romance in a New York tenement 
than there ever was in a baron’s tower — braver battles. 


4 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


truer love, nobler sacrifices. Romance is all about us> 
but we must have eyes for it. You are young people, 
with your lives before you. Let me give you a little 
advice. As you go through life look for the fine things — 
not for the despicable. It won’t make you any richer. 
It won’t make you famous. It won’t better you in a 
worldly way. But it will make your lives happier, for by 
the time you are my age, you’ll love humanity, and look 
upon the world and call it good. And you will have 
found romance enough to satisfy all longings for mediaeval 
times. ” 

‘‘But, dear, one cannot imagine some people ever 
finding anything romantic in life,” said a voice, which, 
had it been translated into words would have said, “I 
know you are right, of course, and you will convince me at 
once, but in my present state of unenlightenment it seems 
to me that — ’’the voice, already low, became lower. “Now” 
—a moment’s hesitation — “there is — Peter Stirling.” 

“Exactly,” said Mr. Pierce. “That is a very case in 
point, and proves just what I’ve been saying. Peter is 
like the novelists of whom I’ve been talking. I don’t 
suppose we ought to blame him for it. What can you ex- 
pect of a son of a mill-foreman, who lives the first sixteen 
years of his life in a mill-village ? If his hereditary ten- 
dencies gave him a chance, such an experience would 
end it. If one lives in the country, one may get fine 
thoughts by contact with Nature. In great cities one is 
developed and stimulated by art, music, literature, and 
contact with clever people. But a mill-village is one vast 
expanse of mediocrity and prosaicness, and it would take 
a bigger nature than Peter’s to recognize the beautiful in 
such a life. In truth, he is as limited, as exact, and as 
unimaginative as the machines of his own village. Peter 
has no romance in him; hence he will never find it, nor 
increase it in this world. This very case only proves my 
point ; that to meet romance one must have it. Boccac- 
cio said he did not write novels, but lived them. Try to 
imagine Peter living a romance ! He could be concerned 
in a dozen and never dream it. They would not interest 
him even if he did notice them. And I’ll prove it to you.” 
Mr. Pierce raised his voice. “ We are discussing romance, 
Peter. Won’t you stop that unsocial tramp of yours long 
enough to give us your opinion on the subject ? ” 


APPEARANCES. 


5 


A moment's silence followed, and then a singularly 
clear voice, coming from the forward part of the yacht, 
replied : “I never read them, Mr. Pierce.” 

Mr. Pierce laughed quietly. “See,” he said, “that 
fellow never dreams of there being romance outside of 
novels. He is so prosaic that he is unconscious of any- 
thing bigger than his own little sphere of life. Peter may 
obtain what he wants in this world, for his desires will be 
of the kind to be won by work and money. But be will 
never be controlled by a great idea, nor be the hero of a 
true romance.” 

Steele once wrote that the only difference between the 
Catholic Church and the Church of England was, that the 
former was infallible and the latter never wrong. Mr. 
Pierce would hardly have claimed for himself either of 
these qualities. He was too accustomed in his business 
to writing, “E. and O. E.” above his initials, to put much 
faith in human dicta. But in the present instance he felt 
sure of what he said, and the little group clearly agreed. 
If they were right, this story is like that recounted in 
Mother Goose, which was ended before it was begun. 
But Mr. Pierce had said that romance is everywhere to 
those who have the spirit of it in them. Perhaps in this 
case the spirit was lacking in his judges — not in Peter 
Stirling. 


CHAPTER II 
APPEARANCES. 

The unconscious illustration of Mr. Pierce's theory was 
pacing backwards and forwards on the narrow space 
between the cuddy-roof and the gunwale, which custom 
dignifies with the name of deck. Six strides forward and 
turn. Six strides aft and turn. That was the extent of 
the beat. Yet had Peter been on sentry duty, he could 
not have continued it more regularly or persistently. If 
he were walking off his supper, as most of those seated 
aft would have suggested, the performance was not par« 
ticularly interesting. The limit and rapidity of the walk 
resembled the tramp of a confined animal, exercising its 
last meal. But when one stands in front of the lion's 


6 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


cage, and sees that restless and tireless stride, one cannot 
but wonder how much of it is due to the last shin-bone, 
and how much to the wild and powerful nature under the 
tawny skin. The question occurs because the nature and 
antecedents of the lion are known. For this same reason 
the yachters were a unit in agreeing that Stilling’s un- 
ceasing walk was merely a digestive promenade. The 
problem was, whether they were right ? Or whether, to 
apply Mr. Pierce’s formula, they merely imposed their 
own frame of mind in place of Stirling’s, and decided, 
since their sole reason for walking at the moment would 
be entirely hygienic, that he too must be striding from 
the same cause ? 

Dr. Holmes tells us that when James and Thomas con- 
verse there are really six talkers. First, James as James 
thinks he is, and Thomas as Thomas thinks he is. 
Second, James as Thomas thinks him, and Thomas as 
James thinks him. Finally, there are James and Thomas 
as they really are. Since this is neither an autobiography 
nor an inspired story, the world’s view of Peter Stirling 
must be adopted without regard to its accuracy. And 
because this view was the sum of his past and personal, 
these elements must be computed before we can know 
on what the world based its conclusions concerning him. 

His story was as ordinary and prosaic as Mr. and Mrs. 
Pierce seemed to think his character. Neither riches nor 
poverty had put a shaping hand to it. The only child of 
his widowed mother, he had lived in one of the smaller 
manufacturing cities of New England a life such as falls 
to most lads. Unquestionably he had been rather more 
shielded from several forms of temptation than had most 
of his playmates, for his mother’s isolation had made him 
not merely her son, but very largely her companion. In 
certain ways this had tended to make him more manly 
than the average fellow of his age, but in others it had 
retarded his development ; and this backwardness had 
been further accentuated by a deliberate mind, which 
hardly kept pace with his physical growth. His school 
record was fair : “Painstaking, but slow,” was the report 
in studies. “Exemplary,” in conduct. He was not a 
leader among the boys, but he was very generally liked. 
A characteristic fact, for good or bad, was that he had no 
enemies. From the clergyman to the “hired help/ 


APPEARANCES. 


* 

everybody had a kind word for him, but tinctured by no 
enthusiasm. All spoke of him as “ a good boy,” and 
when this was said, they had nothing more to say. 

One important exception to this statement is worthy of 
note. The girls of the High School neve/ liked him. If 
they had been called upon for reasons, few could have 
given a tangible one. At their age, everything this world 
contains, be it the Falls of Niagara, or a stick of chew- 
ing gum, is positively or negatively “nice.” For some 
crime of commission or omission, Peter had been weighed 
and found wanting. “ He isn’t nice,” was the universal 
verdict of the scholars who daily filed through the door, 
which the town selectmen, with the fine contempt of the 
narrow man for his unpaid “help,” had labelled, “For 
Females.” If they had said that he was “ perfectly horrid, ” 
there might have been a chance for him. But the subject 
was begun and ended with these three words. Such terse- 
ness in the sex was remarkable and would have deserved 
a psychological investigation had it been based on any 
apparent data. But women’s opinions are so largely a 
matter of instinct and feeling, and so little of judgment 
and induction, that an analysis of the mental processes of 
the hundred girls who had reached this one conclusion, 
would probably have revealed in each a different method 
of obtaining this product. The important point is to rec- 
ognize this consensus of opinion, and to note its bearing 
on the development of the lad. 

That Peter could remain ignorant of this feeling was 
not conceivable. It puzzled him not a little when he first 
began to realize the prejudice, and he did his best to re- 
verse it. Unfortunately he took the very worst way. Had 
he avoided the girls persistently and obviously, he might 
have interested them intensely, for nothing is more dif- 
ficult for a woman to understand than a woman-hater ; 
and from the days of mother Eve the unknown is rumored 
to have had for her sex a powerful fascination. But he 
tried to win their friendship by humbleness and kindness, 
and so only made himself the more cheap in their eyes. 
“ Fatty Peter,” as they jokingly called him, epitomized in 
two words their contempt of him. 

Nor did things mend when he went to Harvard. 
Neither his mother’s abilities nor his choice were able to 
secure for him an enlree to the society which Cambridge 


8 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


and Boston dole out stintedly to certain privileged col* 
legians. Every Friday afternoon he went home, to return 
by an early train Monday morning. In his first year it 
is to be questioned if he exchanged ten words with 
women whose names were known to him, except during 
these home-visits. That this could long continue, was 
impossible. In his second year he was several times 
taken by his chum, Watts D’Alloi, to call. But always 
with one result. Invariably Peter would be found talking 
to Mamma, or, better still, from his point of view, with 
Pater-familias, while Watts chatted with the presumptive 
attractions. Watts laughed at him always. Laughed 
still more when one of these calls resulted in a note, “ re- 
questing the pleasure ” of Mr. Peter Stirlings company to 
dinner. It was Watts who dictated the acceptance, helped 
Peter put the finishing touches to his toilet, and eventu- 
ally landed him safely in Mrs. Purdie’s parlor. His de- 
scription to the boys that night of what followed is worthy 
of quotation : 

“The old fellow shook hands with Mrs. P., O. K. 
Something was said about the weather, and then Mrs. P. 
said, ‘ PH introduce you to the lady you are to take down, 
Mr. Stirling, but I shan't let you talk to her before dinner. 
Look about you and take your choice of whom you 
would like to meet ? ' Chum gave one agonized look 
round the room. There wasn't a woman over twenty- 
five in sight ! And what do you think the wily old fox 
said ? Call him simple ! Not by a circumstance ! A 
society beau couldn’t have done it better. Can't guess ? 
Well, he said, * I'd like to talk to you, Mrs. Purdie/ Fact 1 
Of course she took it as a compliment, and was as pleased 
as could be. Well, I don't know how on earth he ever 
got through his introduction or how he ever reached the 
dining-room, for my inamorata was so pretty that I 
thought of nothing till we were seated, and the host took 
her attention for a moment. Then I looked across at 
chum, who was directly opposite, to see how he was 
getting on. Oh, you fellows would have died to see it 1 
There he sat, looking straight out into vacancy, so plainly 
laboring for something to say that I nearly exploded. 
Twice he opened his lips to speak, and each time closed 
them again. The girl of course looked surprised, but she 
caught my eye, and entered into the joke, and we both 


APPEARANCES. 


9 

waited for developments. Then she suddenly said to 
him, ‘Now let’s talk about something else/ It was too 
much for me. I nearly choked. I don’t know what fol- 
lowed. Miss Jevons turned and asked me something. 
But when I looked again, I could see the perspiration 
standing on Peter s forehead, while the conversation went 
by jerks and starts as if it was riding over a ploughed 
field. Miss Callender, whom he took in, told me aften 
wards that she had never had a harder evening’s work in 
her life. Nothing but ‘ yeses ’ and ‘ noes ’ to be got 
from him. She wouldn’t believe what I said of the old 
fellow.” 

Three or four such experiences ended Peter’s dining 
out. He was recognized as unavailable material. He 
received an occasional card to a reception or a dance, for 
anything in trousers passes muster for such functions. 
He always went when invited, and was most dutiful in 
the counter-calls. In fact, society was to him a duty 
which he discharged with the same plodding determina- 
tion with which he did his day’s studies. He never 
dreamed of taking his social moments frivolously. He 
did not recognize that society is very much like a bee 
colony — stinging those who approached it shyly and 
quietly, but to be mastered by a bold beating of tin pans. 
He neither danced nor talked, and so he was shunted by 
the really pleasant girls and clever women, and passed 
his time with wall-flowers and unbearables, who, in their 
normal sourness, regarded and, perhaps, unconsciously 
made him feel, hardly to his encouragement, that his 
companionship was a sort of penance. If he had been 
asked, at the end of his senior year, what he thought of 
young women and society, he would probably have stig- 
matized them, as he himself had been formerly: “not 
nice.” All of which, again to apply Mr. Pierce’s theory, 
merely meant that the phases which his own character- 
istics had shown him, had re-acted on his own mind, and 
had led him to conclude that girls and society were 
equally unendurable. 

The condition was a dangerous one, and if psychology 
had its doctors they would have predicted a serious heart 
illness in store for him. How serious, would depend 
largely on whether the fever ran its natural course, or 
whether it was driven inwards by disappointment U 


IO 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


these doctors had ceased studying his mental condition 
and glanced at his physical appearance, they would have 
had double cause to shake their heads doubtingly. 

Peter was not good-looking. He was not even, in a 
sense, attractive. In spite of his taking work so hardly 
and life so seriously, he was entirely too stout. This gave 
a heaviness to his face that neutralized his really pleasant 
brown eyes and thick brown hair, which were his best 
features. Manly the face was, but, except when speaking 
in unconscious moments, dull and unstriking. A fellow 
three inches shorter, and two-thirds his weight would 
have been called tall. “Big” was the favorite adjective 
used in describing Peter, and big he was. Had he gone 
through college ten years later, he might have won un- 
stinted fame and admiration as the full-back on the team, 
or stroke on the crew. In his time, athletics were but 
just obtaining, and were not yet approved of either by 
faculties or families. Shakespeare speaks of a tide in the 
affairs of men. Had Peter been born ten years later the 
probabilities are that his name would have been in all the 
papers, that he would have weighed fifty pounds less, 
have been cheered by thousands, have been the idol of 
his class, have been a hero, have married the first girl 
he loved (for heroes, curiously, either marry or die, but 

never remain bachelors) and would have but as this is 

a tale of fact, we must not give rein to imagination. To 
come back to realism, Peter was a hero to nobody but 
his mother. 

Such was the man, who, two weeks after graduation 
from Harvard, was pacing up and down the deck of Mr. 
Pierce's yacht, the “Sunrise,” as she drifted with the tide 
in Long Island Sound. Y et if his expression, as he walked, 
could for a moment have been revealed to those seated 
aft, the face that all thought dull and uninteresting would 
have riveted their attention, and set each one questioning 
whether there might not be something both heroic and 
romantic underneath. The set determination of his look 
can best be explained by telling what had given his face 
such rigid lines, 


A CRAB CHAPTER. 


zs 


CHAPTER 1XL 
A CRAB CHAPTER. 

Mr. Pierce and those about him had clearly indicated 
by the conversation, or rather monologue, already record- 
ed, that Peter was in a sense an odd number in the “Sun- 
rise's " complement of pleasure-seekers. Whether or no 
Mr. Pierce's monologue also indicated that he was not a 
man who dealt in odd numbers, or showered hospitality 
on sons of mill-overseers, the fact was nevertheless true. 
“For value received," or “I hereby promise to pay," 
were favorite formulas of Mr. Pierce, and if not actually 
written in such invitations as he permitted his wife to 
write at his dictation to people whom he decided should 
be bidden to the Shrubberies, a longer or shorter time 
would develop the words, as if written in sympathetic 
ink. Yet Peter had had as pressing an invitation and as 
warm a welcome at Mr. Pierce’s country place as had any 
of the house-party ingathered during the first week of 
July. Clearly something made him of value to the owner 
of the Shrubberies. That something was his chum. Watts 
D’Alloi. 

Peter and Watts were such absolute contrasts that it 
seemed impossible that they could have an interest or 
sympathy, in common. Therefore they had become 
chums. A chance in their freshman year had brought 
them together. Watts, with the refined and delicate sense 
of humor abounding in collegians, had been concerned 
with sundry freshmen in an attempt to steal (or, in col- 
legiate terms, “rag") the chapel Bible, with a view to 
presenting it to some equally subtle humorists at Yale, 
expecting a similar courtesy in return from that college. 
Unfortunately for the joke, the college authorities had 
had the bad taste to guard against the annually attempted 
substitution. Two of the marauders were caught, while 
Watts only escaped by leaving his coat in the hands of 
the watchers. Even then he would have been captured 
had he not met Peter in his flight, and borrowed the lafr 


12 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


ter’s coat, in which he reached his room without detection. 
Peter was caught by the pursuers, and summoned before 
the faculty, but he easily proved that the captured coat 
was not his, and that he had but just parted from one of the 
tutors, making it certain that he could not have been an 
offender. There was some talk of expelling him for aid- 
ing and abetting in the true culprit’s escape, and for re- 
fusing to tell who it was. Respect for his motives, how- 
ever, and his unimpeachable record saved him from 
everything but an admonition from the president, which 
changed into a discussion of cotton printing before that 
august official had delivered half of his intended rebuke. 
People might not enthuse over Peter, but no one ever 
quarrelled with him. So the interview, after travelling 
from cotton prints to spring radishes, ended with a warm 
handshake, and a courteous suggestion that he come again 
when there should be no charges nor admonitions to go 
through with. Watts told him that he was a “ devilish 
lucky ” fellow to have been on hand to help, for Peter had 
proved his pluck to his class, had made a friend of the pres- 
ident and, as Watts considerately put it : “but for your 
being on the corner at 1 1 :io that evening, old chap, you’d 
never have known me.” Truly on such small chances do 
the greatest events of our life turn. Perhaps, could Peter 
have looked into the future, he would have avoided that 
corner. Perhaps, could he have looked even further, he 
would have found that in that chance lay the greatest 
happiness of his life. Who can tell, when the bitter comes, 
and we later see how we could have avoided it, what we 
should have encountered in its place ? Who can tell, 
when sweet comes, how far it is sweetened by the bitter- 
ness that went before ? Dodging the future in this world 
is a success equal to that of the old woman who trium- 
phantly announced that she had borrowed money enough 
to pay all her debts. 

As a matter of course Watts was grateful for the timely 
assistance, and was not slow either to say or show it 
He told his own set of fellows that he was “going to 
take that Stirling up and make him one of us,” and 
Watts had a remarkable way of doing what he chose. 
At first Peter did not respond to the overtures and insist- 
ance of the handsome, well-dressed, free-spending, New 
York swelL He was too conscious of the difference be- 


A CRAB CHAPTER , . 


n 

tween himself and Watts's set, to wish or seek identifier* 
lion with them. But no one who ever came under Watts’s 
influence could long stand out against his sunny face and 
frank manner, and so Peter eventually allowed himself to 
be “ taken up.” Perhaps the resistance encountered only 
whetted Watts’s intention. He was certainly aided by 
Peter’s isolation. Whether the cause was single or mul- 
tiple, Peter was soon in a set from which many a seem- 
ingly far more eligible fellow was debarred. 

Strangely enough, it did not change him perceptibly. 
He still plodded on conscientiously at his studies, de- 
spite laughter and attempts to drag him away from them. 
He still lived absolutely within the comfortable allowance 
that his mother gave him. He still remained the quiet, 
serious looking fellow of yore. The “gang,” as they 
styled themselves, called him “kill-joy,” “graveyard,” 
or “death’s head,” in their evening festivities, but Peter 
only puffed at his pipe good-naturedly, making no retort, 
and if the truth had really been spoken, not a man would 
have changed him a particle. His silence and seriousness 
added the dash of contrast needed to make the evening 
perfect. All joked him. The most popular verse in a 
class-song Watts wrote, was devoted to burlesquing his 
soberness, the gang never tiring of singing at all hours 
and places : 

<f Goodness gracious ! Who’s that in the * yard ’ a yelling in the rain ? 

That’s the boy who never gave his mother any pain, 

But now his moral character is sadly on the wane, 

’Tis little Peter Stirling, bilin’ drunk again. 

Oh, the Sunday-school boy, 

His mamma’s only joy, 

Is shouting drunk as usual, and raising Cain 1 ” 

Yet joke Peter as they would, in every lark, be it drive, 
sail, feed, drink, or smoke, whoever’s else absence was 
commented upon, his never passed unnoticed. 

In Sophomore year, Watts, without quite knowing why, 
proposed that they should share rooms. Nor would he 
take Peter’s refusal, and eventually succeeded in reversing 
it. 

“I can’t afford your style of living,” Peter had said 
quietly, as his principal objection. 

“Oh, I’ll foot the bills for the fixings, so it shan’t cost 
you a cent more,” said Watts, and when Peter had finally 


U 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


been won over to give his assent, Watts had supposed 
it was on this uneven basis. But in the end, the joint 
chambers were more simply furnished than those of the 
rest of the gang, who promptly christened them “the 
hermitage,” and Peter had paid his half of the expense. 
And though he rarely had visitors of his own asking at 
the chambers, all cost of wine and tobacco was equally 
borne by him. 

The three succeeding years welded very strong bands 
round these two. It was natural that they should modify 
each other strongly, but in truth, as in most cases, when 
markedly different characteristics are brought in contact, 
the only effect was to accentuate each in his peculiarities. 
Peter dug at his books all the harder, by reason of Watts’s 
neglect of them. Watts became the more free-handed 
with his money because of Peter’s prudence. Watts 
talked more because of Peter’s silence, and Peter listened 
more because of Watts’s talk. Watts, it is true, tried to 
drag Peter into society, yet in truth, Peter was really left 
more alone than if he had been rooming with a less social 
fellow. Each had in truth become the complement of the 
other, and seemed as mutually necessary as the positive 
and negative wires in electricity. Peter, who had been 
taking the law lectures in addition to the regular academic 
course, and had spent his last two summers reading law 
in an attorney’s office, in his native town, taking the New 
York examination in the previous January, had striven to 
get Watts to do the same, with the ultimate intention of 
their hanging out a joint legal shingle in New York. 

“I’ll see the clients, and work up the cases, Watts, and 
you’ll make the speeches and do the social end,” said 
Peter, making a rather long speech in the ardor of his 
wishes. 

Watts laughed. “I don’t know, old man. I rather 
fancy I shan’t do anything. To do something requires 
that one shall make up one’s mind what to do, and that’s 
such devilish hard work. I’ll wait till I’ve graduated, and 
had a chin with my governor about it. Perhaps he’ll 
make up my mind for me, and so save my brain tissue. 
But anyway, you’ll come to New York, and start in, for 
you must be within reach of me. Besides, New York’s 
the only place in this country worth living in.” 

Such were the relations between the two at graduation 


A CRAB CHAPTER . 


T S 

time. Watts, who had always prepared his lessons in a 
tenth part of the time it had taken Peter, buckled down 
in the last few weeks, and easily won an honorable men- 
tion. Peter had tried hard to win honors, but failed. 

“You did too much outside work, old man,” said Watts, 
who would cheerfully have given his own triumph to his 
friend. “ If you want success in anything, you’ve got to 
sacrifice other things and concentrate on the object. The 
Mention’s really not worth the ink it’s written with, in my 
case, but I knew it would please mammy and pappy, so I 
put on steam, and got it. If I’d hitched on a lot of freight 
cars loaded with stuff that wouldn’t have told in Exams, 
I never could have been in on time. ” 

Peter shook his head rather sadly. “You outclass me 
in brains, Watts, as much as you do in other things.” 

“Nonsense,” said Watts. “I haven’t one quarter of 
your head. But my ancestors — here’s to the old coves — 
have been brain-culturing for three hundred years, while 
yours have been land-culturing ; and of course my brain 
moves quicker and easier than yours. I take to a book, 
by hereditary instinct, as a duck to water, while you are 
like a yacht, which needs a heap of building and fitting 
before she can do the same. But you’ll beat me in the 
long run, as easily as the boat does the duck. And the 
Honor’s nothing.” 

“Except, as you said, to one’s ” — Peter hesitated for a 
moment, divided in mind by his wish to quote accurately, 
and his dislike of anything disrespectful, and then finished 
“ to one’s mother.” 

“That’s the last person it’s needed for, chum,” replied 
Watts. “If there’s one person that doesn’t need the 
world’s or faculty’s opinion to prove one’s merit, it’s one’s 
dear, darling, doating, self-deluded and undisillusioned 
mamma. Heigh-ho. I’ll be with mine two weeks from 
now, after we’ve had our visit at the Pierces’. I’m jolly 
glad you are going, old man. It will be a sort of taper- 
jng-off time for the summer’s separation. I don’t see why 
you insist on starting in at once in New York? No one 
does any law business in the summertime. Why, I even 
think the courts are closed. Come, you’d better go on 
to Grey-Court with me, and try it, at least. My mammy 
will kill the tatted calf for you in great style.” 

“We’ve settled that once,” said Peter, who was evf- 


l6 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

dently speaking journalistically, for he had done the 
settling. 

Watts said something in a half-articulate way, which 
certainly would have fired the blood of every dime museum- 
keeper in the country, had they been there to hear the 
conversation, for, as well as could be gathered from the 
mumbling, it related to a “pig-headed donkey” known 
of to the speaker. “I suppose you’ll be backing out of 
the Pierce affair yet,” he added, discontentedly. 

“No,” said Peter. 

“An invitation to Grey-Court is worth two of the Shrub- 
beries. My mother knows only the right kind of people, 
while Mr. Pierce ” 

“Is to be our host,” interrupted Peter, but with no 
shade of correction in his voice. 

“Yes,” laughed Watts, “and he is a host. He’ll not 
let any one else get a word in edgewise. You are just the 
kind of talker he’ll like. Mark my word, he’ll be telling 
every one, before you’ve been two hours in the house, 
that you are a remarkably brilliant conversationalist. ” 

“What will he say of you? ” said Peter, in a sentence 
which he broke up into reasonable lengths by a couple of 
pulls at his pipe in the middle of it. 

“Mr. Pierce, chum,” replied Watts, with a look in his 
eyes which Peter had learned to associate with mischief 
on Watts’s part, “has too great an affection for yours 
truly to object to anything I do. Do you suppose, if I 
hadn’t been sure of my footing at the Shrubberies, that I 
should have dared to ask an invitation for ” — then Watts 
hesitated for a moment, seeing a half-surprised, half- 
anxious look come into Peter’s face, “for myself?” he 
continued. 

“Tell truth and shame the devil,” said Peter. 

Watts laughed. “ Confound you ! That’s what comes 
of letting even such a stupid old beggar as you learn to 
read one’s thoughts. It’s mighty ungrateful of you to use 
them against me. Yes. I did ask to have you included 
in the party. But you needn’t put your back up, Mr. Un- 
bendable, and think you were forced on them. Mr. Pierce 
gave me carle blanche , and if it hadn’t been you, it would 
have been some other donkey.” 

“ But Mrs. Pierce ? ” queried Peter. 

"Oh,” explained Watts, “of course Mrs. Pierce wrote 


BEGINNINGS. 


1 * 

the letter. I couldn't do it in my name, and so Mr. 
Pierce told her to do it They're very fond of me, old 
man, because my governor is the largest stockholder, and 
a director in Mr. P. s bank, and I was told I could bring 
down some fellows next week for a few days’ jollity. I 
didn’t care to do that, but of course I wouldn’t have 
omitted you for any amount of ducats.” 

Which explanation solves the mystery of Peter's presence 
at the Shrubberies. To understand his face we must 
trace the period between his arrival and the moment this 
story begins. 


CHAPTER IV. 

BEGINNINGS. 

How far Watts was confining himself to facts in the 
foregoing dialogue is of no concern, for the only point of 
value was that Peter was invited, without regard to whether 
Watts first asked Mr. Pierce, or Mr. Pierce first asked Watts. 
A letter which the latter wrote to Miss Pierce, as soon as 
it was settled that Peter should go, is of more importance, 
and deserves quotation in full : 

June 7TH. 

My Dear Helen — 

Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of diplo 
macy to achieve the scheme we planned last summer, which would be 
creditable to Palmerston at his palmiest and have made Bismarck even 
more marked than he is. But the deed, the mighty deed is done, and 
June twenty-ninth will see chum and me at the Shrubberies “ if it kills 
every cow in the barn,” which is merely another way of saying that in 
the bright lexicon of youth, there’s no such word as fail. 

Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet. I have talked 
to you so much about him, that you will probably laugh at my attempt- 
ing to tell you anything new. I’m not going to try, and you are to con- 
sider all I say as merely a sort of underlining to what you already know. 
Please remember that he will never take a prize for his beauty — nor 
even for his grace. He has a pleasing way with girls, not only of 
not talking himself, but of making it nearly impossible for them to talk. 
For instance, if a girl asks me if I play croquet, which by the way, is 
becoming very passi (three last lines verge on poetry) being replaced by 
a new game called tennis, I probably say, “ No. Do you ? ” In this 
way I make croquet good for a ten minutes’ chat, which in the end leads 
up to some other subject. Peter, however, doesn’t. He says “ No,” and 
so the girl can’t go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject. It 
is safest to take the subject-headings from an encyclopaedia, and intro* 


1 8 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

doce them in alphabetical order. Allow about ninety to the horn’, ttnbto* 
you are brave enough to bear an occasional silence. If you are, you can 
reduce this number considerably, and chum doesn’t mind a pause in the 
least, if the girl will only look contented. If she looks worried, however, 
Peter gets worried, too. Just put the old chap between you and your 
mamma at meals, and pull him over any rough spots that come 
along. You, I know, will be able to make it easy for him. Neglect me 
to any extent. I shan’t be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect 
as an excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my 
innings. I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really nice 
girl can be, so do your prettiest to him, for the sake of 

Watts Clarkson D’Alloi. 

When Watts and Peter saved the " cows in the barn ” 
by stepping off the train on June 29th, the effect of this 
letter was manifest. Watts was promptly bestowed on 
the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while Peter was 
quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat. Of course 
an introduction had been made, but Peter had acquired 
a habit of not looking at girls, and as a consequence had 
yet to discover how far Miss Pierce came up to the pleas- 
ant word-sketch Watts had drawn of her. Indeed, Peter 
had looked longingly at the seat beside Mr. Pierce, and 
had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one 
which seemed to him the essence of tact and most un- 
apparent, to have it assigned to him. But two people, far 
his superior in natural finesse and experience, had decided 
beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could 
not resist their skilful manoeuvres. So he climbed into 
place, hoping that she wouldn't talk, or if that was too 
much to expect, that at least Watts would half turn and 
help him through. 

Neither of these fitted, however, with Miss Pierce's plans. 
She gave Peter a moment to fit comfortably into his seat, 
knowing that if she forced the running before he had done 
that, he would probably sit awry for the whole drive. 
Then: “I can’t tell you how pleased we all are over 
Watts’s success. We knew, of course, he could do it if 
he cared to, but he seemed to think the attempt hardly 
worth the making, and so we did not know if he would 
try." 

Peter breathed more easily. She had not asked a ques- 
tion, and the intonation of the last sentence was such as 
left him to infer that it was not his turn to say something ; 
which, Peter had noticed, was the way in which girls 
generally ended their remarks. 


BEGINNINGS. 


19 


*■ Oh, look at that absurd looking cow,'' was her next 
remark, made before Peter had begun to worry over the 
pause. 

Peter looked at the cow and laughed. He would like 
to have laughed longer, for that would have used up 
time, but the moment he thought the laugh could be 
employed in place of conversation, the laugh failed. 
However, to be told to look at a cow required no re- 
joinder, so there was as yet no cause for anxiety. 

“We are very proud of our roads about here,” said 
Miss Pierce. “ When we first bought they were very 
bad, but papa took the matter in hand and got them 
to build with a rock foundation, as they do in Europe. ” 
Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer 
or remark yet forced upon him. Peter thought of rouge 
et noir , and wondered what the odds were that he would 
be forced to say something by Miss Pierce’s next speech. 

“ I like the New England roadside,” continued Miss 
Pierce, with an apparent relativeness to the last subject 
that delighted Peter, who was used by this time to much 
disconnection of conversation, and found not a little 
difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another. 
“ There is a tangled finish about it that is very pleasant 
And in August, when the golden-rod comes, I think it is 
glorious. It seems to me as if all the hot sunbeams of 
the summer had been gathered up in — excuse the expres- 
sion — it’s a word of Watts’s — into ‘gobs ’ of sunshine, and 
scattered along the roads and fields. ” 

Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for 
a response, but concluded that it didn’t. 

“ Papa told me the other day,” continued Miss Pierce, 
“that there were nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod. 
I had never noticed that there were any differences.” 

Peter began to feel easy and comfortable. He made 
a mental note that Miss Pierce had a very sweet voice. 
It had never occurred to Peter before to notice if a girl 
had a pleasant voice. Now he distinctly remembered 
that several to whom he had talked — or rather who had 
talked to him — had not possessed that attraction. 

“ Last year,” said Miss Pierce, “ when Watts was here, 
we had a golden-rod party. We had the whole house 
decked with it, and yellow lamps on the lawn. ” 

“ He told me about it,” said Peter. 


20 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

" He really was the soul of it,” said Miss Pierce. "He 
wove himself a belt and chaplet of it and wore it all 
through the evening. He was so good-looking ! ” 

Peter, quite unconscious that he had said anything, 
actually continued : " He was voted the handsomest 
man of the class. ” 

" Was he really ? How nice ! ” said Miss Pierce. 

"Yes,” said Peter. "And it was true.” Peter failed 
to notice that a question had been asked, or that 
he had answered it. He began to think that he would 
like to look at Miss Pierce for a moment. Miss Pierce, 
during this interval, remarked to herself : "Yes. That 
was the right way, Helen, my dear.” 

" We had quite a houseful for our party,” Miss Pierce 
remarked, after this self-approval. "And that reminds 
me that I must tell you about whom you meet to-day.” 
Then the next ten minutes were consumed in naming and 
describing the two fashionable New York girls and their 
brother, who made the party then assembled. 

During this time Peter’s eyes strayed from Watts’s shapely 
back, and took a furtive glance at Miss Pierce. He found 
that she was looking at him as she talked, but for some 
reason it did not alarm him, as such observation usually 
did. Before the guests were properly catalogued, Peter 
was looking into her eyes as she rambled on, and for- 
got that he was doing so. 

The face that he saw was not one of any great beauty, 
but it was sweet, and had a most attractive way of show- 
ing every change of mood or thought. It responded 
quickly too, to outside influence. Many a girl of more 
real beauty was less popular. People liked to talk to 
Miss Pierce, and many could not escape from saying 
more than they wished, impelled thereto by her ready 
sympathy. Then her eyes were really beautiful, and 
she had the trimmest, dearest little figure in the world; 
" squeezable ” was the word Watts used to describe it, 
and most men thought the same. Finally, she had a 
pleasant way of looking into people’s eyes as she talked 
to them, and for some reason people felt very well satisfied 
when she did. 

It had this effect upon Peter. As he looked down into 
the large gray eyes, really slate-color in their natural dark- 
ness, made the darker by the shadow* of the long lashes, 


MINES AND COUNTER-MINES, %i 

he entirely forgot place and circumstances ; ceased to 
think whose turn it was to speak ; even forgot to think 
whether he was enjoying the moment. In short he for- 
got himself and, what was equally important, forgot 
that he was talking to a girl. He felt and behaved as ht 
did with men. “ Moly hoses ! ” said Watts to himself on 
the front seat, “ the old fellow’s getting loquacious. Gar- 
rulity must be contagious, and he’s caught it from Mr. 
Pierce.” Which, being reduced to actual facts, means that 
Peter had spoken eight times, and laughed twice, in the 
half hour that was passed between the station and the 
Shrubberies’ gate. 


CHAPTER V, 

MINES AND COUNTER-MINES. 

Thk sight of the party on the veranda of the Shrubberies 
brought a return of self-consciousness to Peter, and he 
braced himself, as the trap slowed up, for the agony of 
formal greetings. If Miss Pierce had been a less sweet, 
sympathetic girl, she could hardly have kept from smiling 
at the way Peter’s face and figure stiffened, as the group 
came in sight. But Miss Pierce had decided, before 
she met Peter, that she should like him, and, moreover, 
that he was a man who needed help. Let any woman 
reach these conclusions about a man, and for some reason 
quite beyond logic or philosophy, he ceases to be ridicu- 
lous. So instead of smiling, she bridged over the awful 
greetings with feminine engineering skill quite equal to 
some great strategic movement in war. Peter was made 
to shake hands with Mrs. Pierce, but was called off to 
help Miss Pierce out of the carriage, before speech was 
necessary. Then a bundle was missing in the bottom of 
the carriage, and Mr. Pawling, the New York swell, was 
summoned to help Peter find it, the incident being seized 
upon to name the two to each other. Finally, he was 
introduced to the two girls, but, almost instantly, Watts 
and Peter were sent to their rooms ; and Miss Pierce, 
nodding her head in a way which denoted satisfaction, 
remarked as she went to her own room, “Really, Helen, 


22 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


I don’t think it will be so very hard, after all. He’s very 
tractable. ” 

As Peter came downstairs, before dinner, he speculated 
on whether he should be able to talk to Miss Pierce. 
He rather doubted from past experience, if such a result 
was attainable, seeing that there were two other men, who 
would of course endeavor to do the same. But strangely 
enough the two men were already seated by the New 
York girls, and a vacant chair was next that holding Miss 
Pierce. What was more, he was at once summoned to fill 
it, and in five minutes was again entirely unconscious of 
everything but the slate-colored eyes, looking so pleas- 
antly into his. Then he took Miss Pierce in to dinner, and 
sat between her and her mother, again becoming ab-' 
sorbed in the slate-colored eyes, which seemed quite 
willing to be absorbed. After dinner, too, when the 
women had succeeded the weed, Peter in someway found 
it very easy to settle himself near Miss Pierce. Later that 
night Peter sat in his room, or rather, with half his body 
out of the window, puffing his pipe, and thinking how 
well he had gone through the day. He had not made a 
single slip. Nothing to groan over. “ I’m getting more 
experienced,” he thought, with the vanity noticeable in 
even the most diffident of collegians, never dreaming that 
everything that he had said or done in the last few hours, 
had been made easy for him by a woman’s tact. 

The following week was practically a continuation of 
this first day. In truth Peter was out of his element with 
the fashionables ; Mr. Pierce did not choose to waste his 
power on him ; and Mrs. Pierce, like the yielding, de- 
voted wife she was, took her coloring from her husband. 
Watts had intended to look after him, but Watts played 
well on the piano, and on the billiard table ; he rowed well 
and rode well ; he sang, he danced, he swam, he talked, 
he played all games, he read aloud capitally, and, what 
was more, was ready at any or all times for any or all 
things. No man who can do half these had better intend 
seriously to do some duty in a house-party in July. For, 
however good his intentions, he will merely add to the 
pavement of a warmer place than even a July temperature 
makes Long Island Sound. Instinctively, Peter turned 
to Miss Pierce at every opportunity. He should have 
asked himself if the girl was really enjoying his company 


MINES AND COUNTERMINES. 


*3 


more than she did that of the other young people. Had he 
been to the manner born he would have known better than 
to force himself on a hostess, or to make his monopoly of a 
young girl so marked. But he was entirely oblivious of 
whether he was doing as he ought, conscious only that, for 
causes which he made no attempt to analyze, he was very 
happy when with her. For reasons best known to Miss 
Pierce, she allowed herself to be monopolized. She was 
even almost as devoted to Peter as he was to her, and no 
comparison could be stronger. It is to be questioned ifshe 
enjoyed it very much, for Peter was not talkative, and the 
little he did say was neither brilliant nor witty. With the 
jollity and “high jinks” (to use a word of Watts’s) going 
on about her, it is hardly possible that Peter’s society 
shone by contrast. Yet in drawing-room or carriage, on 
the veranda, lawn, or yacht’s deck, she was ever ready to 
give him as much of her attention and help as he seemed 
to need, and he needed a good deal. Wattsjokingly said 
that “the moment Peter comes in sight, Helen puts out a 
sign 4 vacant, to let,’ ” and this was only one of many jokes 
the house-party made over the dual devotion. 

It was an experience full of danger to Peter. For the 
first time in his life he was seeing the really charming 
phases which a girl has at command. Attractive as these 
are to all men, they were trebly so to Peter, who had 
nothing to compare with them but the indifferent attitudes 
hitherto shown him by the maidens of his native town, 
and by the few Boston women who had been compelled 
to “ endure ” his society. If he had had more experience 
he would have merely thought Miss Pierce a girl with nice 
eyes, figure and manner. But as a single glass of wine 
is dangerous to the teetotaller, so this episode had an over- 
balancing influence on Peter, entirely out of proportion to 
its true value. Before the week was over he was seriously 
in love, and though his natural impassiveness and his 
entire lack of knowledge how to convey his feelings to 
Miss Pierce, prevented her from a suspicion of the fact, 
the more experienced father and mother were not so blind. 

“Really, Charles,” said Mrs. Pierce, in the privacy of 
their own room, “ I think it ought to be stopped.” 

“Exactly, my dear,” replied her other half, with an ap- 
parent yielding to her views that amazed and rather 
frightened Mrs. Pierce, till he continued: “Beyond 


*4 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


question it should be stopped, since you say so. It is 
neuter, and as neutral things are highly objectionable, 
stop it by all means. ” 

“I mean Mr. Stirling " began Mrs. Pierce. 

“ Yes ?” interrupted Mr. Pierce, in an encouraging, in- 
quiring tone. “ Peter is certainly neuter. I think one 
might say negative, without gross exaggeration. Still, I 
should hardly stop him. He finds enough difficulty in 
getting out an occasional remark without putting a stop- 
per in him. Perhaps, though, I mistake your meaning, 
and you want Peter merely to stop here a little longer. ” 

“ I meaa, dear/' replied Mrs. Pierce, with something 
like a tear in her voice, for she was sadly wanting in a 
sense of humor, and her husband’s jokes always half 
frightened her, and invariably made her feel inferior to 
him, ‘‘I mean his spending so much time with Helen. 
I’m afraid he’ll fall in love with her. ” 

“My dear," said Mr. Pierce, “you really should be a 
professional mind-reader. Your suggestion comes as an 
awful revelation to me. Just supposing he should — aye 
— just supposing he has, fallen in love with Helen ! " 

“I really think he has," said Mrs. Pierce, “though he 
is so different from most men, that I am not sure." 

“Then by all means we must stop him. By the way, 
how does one stop a man’s falling in love ? ’’ asked Mr. 
Pierce. 

“Charles!" said Mrs. Pierce. 

This remark of Mrs. Pierce’s generally meant a resort 
to a handkerchief, and Mr. Pierce did not care for any 
increase of atmospheric humidity just then. He therefore 
concluded that since his wit was taken seriously, he would 
try a bit of seriousness, as an antidote. 

“I don’t think there is any occasion to interfere. 
Whatever Peter does can make no difference, for it is per- 
fectly evident that Helen is nice to him as a sort of 
duty, and, I rather suspect, to please Watts. So anything 
she may do will be a favor to him, while the fact that 
she is attractive to Peter will not lessen her value to — 
others." 

“Then you don’t think ?" asked Mrs. Pierce, and 

paused there. 

“Dont insult my intelligence," laughed Mr. Pierce. 
M X do think. I think things can’t be going better I 


MINES AND COUNTERMINES 


*5 

wtss 3 little afraid of Mr. Pawling', and should have pre- 
ferred to have him and his sisters later, but since it is 
policy to invite them and they could not come at any 
other time, it was a godsend to have sensible, dull old 
Peter to keep her busy. If he had been in the least dan- 
gerous, I should not have interfered, but I should have 
made him very ridiculous. That’s the way for parents to 
treat an ineligible man. Next week, when all are gone 
but Watts, he will have his time, and shine the more by 
contrast with what she has had this week. ” 

‘ ‘ Then you think H elen and W atts care for each other ? * 
asked Mrs. Pierce, flushing with pleasure, to find her own 
opinion of such a delightful possibility supported by her 
husband’s. 

“I think,” said Mr. Pierce, “that the less we parents 
concern ourselves with love the better. If I have made 
opportunities for Helen and Watts to see something of 
each other, I have only done what was to their mutual 
interests. Any courtesy I have shown him is well enough 
accounted for on the ground of his father’s interest in my 
institution, without the assumption of any matrimonial 
intentions. However, I am not opposed to a marriage. 
Watts is the son of a very rich man of the best social 
position in New York, besides being a nice fellow in him- 
self. Helen will make any man a good wife, and who- 
ever wins her will not be the poorer. If the two can fix 
it between themselves, I shall cry nunc dimittis, but fur- 
ther than this, the deponent saith and doeth not.” 

“ I am sure they love each other,” said Mrs. Pierce. 

“Well,” said Mr. Pierce, “I think if most parents would 
decide whom it was best for their child to marry, and see 
that the young people saw just enough of each other, be- 
fore they saw too much of the world, they could accom- 
plish their purpose, provided they otherwise kept their 
finger out of the pot of love. There is a certain period in 
a man’s life when he must love something feminine, even 
if she’s as old as his grandmother. There is a certain 
period in a girl’s life when it is well-nigh impossible for her 
to say ‘no’ to a lover. He really only loves the sex, 
and she really loves the love and not the lover ; but it is 
just as well, for the delusion lasts quite as long as the 
more personal love that comes later. And, being young, 
they need less breaking for double harness.” 


26 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Mrs. Pierce winced. Most women do wince when a 
man really verges on his true conclusions concerning 
love in the abstract, however satisfactory his love in the 
concrete may be to them. “I am sure they love each 
other,” she affirmed. 

4 ‘Yes, I think they do,” replied Mr. Pierce. “But five 
years in the world before meeting would have possibly 
brought quite a different conclusion. And now, my dear, 
if we are not going to have the young people eloping in 
the yacht by themselves, we had better leave both the 
subject and the room, for we have kept them fifteen min 
utes as it is.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

A MONOLOGUE AND A DIALOGUE. 

It was at the end of this day’s yachting that Peter was 
having his “unsocial walk.” Early on the morrow he 
would be taking the train for his native town, and the 
thought of this, in connection with other thoughts, drew 
stern lines on his face. His conclusions were something 
to this effect : 

“ I suspected before coming that Watts and Miss Pierce 
loved each other. I was evidently wrong, for if they did 
they could not endure seeing so little of each other. How 
could he know her and not love her ? But it’s very fortu- 
nate for me, for I should stand no chance against him, 
even supposing I should try to win the girl he loved. 
She can’t care for me ! As Watts says, ‘ I’m an old stupid 
naturally, and doubly so with girls.’ Still, I can’t go to- 
morrow without telling her. I shan’t see her again till 
next winter. I can’t wait till then. Some one else — I 
Can’t wait.” 

Then he strode up and down half a dozen times re- 
peating the last three words over and over again. His 
thoughts took a new turn. 

“ It’s simply folly, and you have no right to give in to 
it. You have your own way to make. You have no 
right to ask mother for more than the fifteen hundred she 
says you are to have as an allowance, for you know that 


A MONOLOGUE AND A DIALOGUE . 


n 

even if she gave you more, it would be only by scrimping 
herself. What is fifteen hundred a year to such a girl? 
Why, her father would think I was joking 1 ” 

Then Peter looked out on the leaden waters and wished 
it was not cowardly to end the conflict by letting them 
close over him. The dark color made him think, how- 
ever, of a pair of slate-colored eyes, so instead of jumping 
in, he repeated “I can’t wait” a few times, and walked 
with redoubled energy. Having stimulated himself there- 
by, he went on thinking. 

“She has been so kind to me that — no — she can’t care 
for me. But if she — if by chance — if — supposing she does! 
Why, the money is nothing. We can wait.” 

Peter repeated this last remark several times, clearly 
showing that he made a great distim +ion between “I can 
wait” and “We can wait.” Probably the same nice 
distinction has been made before, and lovers have good 
authority for the distinction, for many an editor’s public 
“ We think ” is the exact opposite of his private “I think.” 
Then Peter continued : 

“Of course I shall have difficulty with Mr. Pierce. 
He’s a worldly man. That’s nothing, though, if she cares 
for me. If she cares for me? ” 

Peter repeated this last sentence a number of times and 
seemed to enjoy the prospect it conjured up. He saw 
Peter Stirling taking a fond farewell of a certain lady. He 
saw him entering the arena and struggling with the wild 
beasts, and of course conquering them. He saw the day 
when his successes would enable him to set up his own 
fireside. He saw that fireside made perfect by a pair of 
slate-colored eyes, which breakfast opposite him, follow 
him as he starts for his work, and greet him on his 
return. A pair of eyes to love when present, and think of 
when absent. Heigho ! How many firesides and homes 
have been built out of just such materials ! 

From all this the fact can be gathered that Peter was 
really, despite his calm, sober nature, no more sensible in 
love matters than are other boys verging on twenty-one. 
He could not see that success in this love would be his 
greatest misfortune. That he could not but be distracted 
from his work. That he would almost certainly marry 
before he could well afford it, and thus overweight him- 
self in his battle for success. He forgot prudence and 


28 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


common-sense, and that being what a lover usually does, 
he can hardly be blamed for it. 

Bump ! 

Down came the air-castle. Home, fireside, and the 
slate-colored eyes dissolved into a wooden wharf. The 
dream was over. 

“Bear a hand here with these lunch-baskets, chum,” 
called Watts. “Make yourself useful as well as orna- 
mental. ” 

And so Peter's solitary tramp ceased, and he was help- 
ing lunch-baskets and ladies to the wharf. 

But the tramp had brought results which were quickly 
to manifest themselves. As the party paired off for the 
walk to the Shrubberies, both Watts and Peter joined 
Miss Pierce, which /as not at all to Peter’s liking. 

“Go on with the rest, Watts,” said Peter quietly. 

Miss Pierce and Watts both stopped short in surprise. 

“ Eh ? ” said the latter. 

“You join the rest of the party on ahead,” said Peter. 

“I don’t understand,” said Watts, who could hardly 
have been more surprised if Peter had told him to drown 
himself. 

“ I want to say something to Miss Pierce,” explained 
Peter. 

Watts caught his breath. If Peter had not requested 
his absence and given his reason for wishing it, in Miss 
Pierce’s bearing, Watts would have formed an instant 
conclusion as to what it meant, not far from the truth. 
But that a man should deliberately order another away, 
in the girl’s hearing, so that he might propose to her, was 
too great an absurdity for Watts to entertain for more than 
a second. He laughed, and said, “Go on yourself, if you 
don’t like the company.” 

“No,” said Peter. “I want you to go on.” Peter 
spoke quietly, but there was an inflexion in his singularly 
clear voice, which had more command in it than a much 
louder tone in others. Watts had learned to recognize it, 
and from past experience knew that Peter was not to be 
moved when he used it. But here the case was different. 
Hitherto he had been trying to make Peter do something. 
Now the boot was on the other leg, and Watts saw therein 
a chance for some fun. He therefore continued to stand 
still, as they had all done since Peter had exploded his 


A MONOLOGUE AND A DIALOGUE. 


29 

first speech, and began to whistle. Both men, with that 
selfishness common to the sex, failed entirely to consider 
whether Miss Pierce was enjoying the incident. 

“I think/' remarked Miss Pierce, “that I will leave 
you two to settle it, and run on with the rest” 

“ Don’t,” spoke Peter quickly. “I have something to 
say to you.” 

Watts stopped his whistling. “What the deuce is the 
old boy up to ? ” he thought to himself. Miss Pierce 
hesitated. She wanted to go, but something in Peter’s 
voice made it very difficult. 4 4 I had no idea he could speak 
so decidedly. He's not so tractable as I thought. I think 
Watts ought to do what he asks. Though I don't see 
why Mr. Stirling wants to send him away,” she said to 
herself. 

44 Watts,” said Peter, 44 this is the last chance I shall 
really have to thank Miss Pierce, for I leave before break- 
fast to-morrow.” 

There was nothing appealing in the way it was said. 
It seemed a mere statement of a fact. Yet something in 
the voice gave it the character of a command. 

44 'Nough said, chum,” said Watts, feeling a little cheap 
at his smallness in having tried to rob Peter of his fare- 
well. The next moment he was rapidly overtaking the 
advance-party. 

By all conventions there should have been an embarrass- 
ing pause after this extraordinary colloquy, but there 
was not. When Peter decided to do a thing, he never 
faltered in the doing. If making love or declaring it had 
been a matter of directness and plain-speaking, Peter 
would have been a successful lover. But few girls are 
won by lovers who carry business methods and habits 
of speech into their courtship. 

44 Miss Pierce,” said Peter, 44 1 could not go without 
thanking you for your kindness to me. I shall never for- 
get this week. ” 

44 1 am so glad you have enjoyed it,” almost sang Miss 
Pierce, in her pleasure at this reward for her week of self- 
sacrifice. 

“And I couldn't go,” said Peter, his clear voice sud- 
denly husking, 44 without telling you how I love you.” 

44 Love me ! ” exclaimed Miss Pierce, and she brought 
the walk again to a halt, in her surprise. 


30 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“Yes," replied Peter simply, but the monosyllable 
meant more than the strongest protestations, as he said it. 

“Oh,” almost cried his companion, “ I am so sorry.” 

“ Don’t say that,” said Peter ; “ I don’t want it to be a 
sorrow to you.” 

“But it's so sudden,” gasped Miss Pierce. 

“I suppose it is,” said Peter, “but I love you and 
can’t help telling it. Why shouldn’t one tell one’s love 
as soon as one feels it ? It’s the finest thing a man can 
tell a woman.” 

“Oh, please don’t,” begged Miss Pierce, her eyes full 
of tears in sympathy for him. “You make it so hard for 
me to say that — that you mustn’t.” 

“ I really didn’t think you could care for me — as I cared 
for you,” replied Peter, rather more to the voice than to 
the words of the last speech. “ Girls have never liked 
me. ” 

Miss Pierce began to sob. “ It’s all a mistake. A 
dreadful mistake,” she cried, “ and it is my fault.” 

“ Don’t say that,” said Peter. “It’s nothing but my 
blundering.” 

They walked on in silence to the Shrubberies, but as 
they came near to the glare of the lighted doorway, Peter 
halted a moment. 

“Do you think,” he asked, “ that it could ever be dif- 
ferent ? ” 

“No,” replied Miss Pierce. 

“ Because, unless there is — is some one else,” continued 
Peter, “I shall not ” 

“There is,” interrupted Miss Pierce, the determina- 
tion in Peter’s voice frightening her into disclosing her 
secret. 

Peter said to himself, “It is Watts after all.” He was 
tempted to say it aloud, and most men in the sting of the 
moment would have done so. But he thought it would 
not be the speech of a gentleman. Instead he said, 
“Thank you.” Then he braced himself, and added: 
“ Please don’t let my love cause you any sorrow. It has 
been nothing but a joy to me. Good-night and good- 
bye. ” 

He did not even offer to shake hands in part- 
ing. They went into the hallway together, and leaving 
the rest of the party, who were already raiding the larder 


FACING THE WORLD. 


3 * 


for an impromptu supper, to their own devices, they 
passed upstairs, Miss Pierce to bathe her eyes and Peter 
to pack his belongings. 

“Where are Helen and Stirling? ” inquired Mr. Pierce 
when the time came to serve out the Welsh rarebit he was 
tending. 

“They'll be along presently,” said Watts. “Helen 
forgot something, and they went back after it.” 

“They will be properly punished by the leathery con- 
dition of the rarebit, if they don’t hurry. And as we are 
all agreed that Stirling is somewhat lacking in romance, 
he will not get a corresponding pleasure from the longer 
stroll to reward him for that. There, ladies and gentle- 
men, that is a rarebit that will melt in your mouth, and 
make the absent ones regret their foolishness. As the 
gourmand says in ‘ Richelieu/ * What’s diplomacy com- 
pared to a delicious patd ? ' ” 


CHAPTER VIL 

FACING THE WORLD. 

Army surgeons recognize three types of wounded. One 
type so nervous, that it drops the moment it is struck, 
whether the wound is disabling or not. Another so nerve- 
less, that it fights on, unconscious that it has been hit. A 
third, who, feeling the wound, goes on fighting, sustained 
by its nerve. It is over the latter sort that the surgeons 
shake their heads and look anxious. 

Peter did his packing quietly and quickly, not pausing 
for a moment in the task. Then he went downstairs, 
and joined the party, just finishing the supper. He re- 
fused, it is true, to eat anything, and was quiet, but this 
phase was so normal in him, that it occasioned no remark. 
Asked where Miss Pierce was, he explained briefly that he 
had left her in the hall, in order to do his packing and had 
not seen her since. 

In a few moments the party broke up. Peter said a good- 
bye to each, quite conscious of what he was doing, yet 
really saying more and better things than he had said in 


32 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


his whole visit, and quite surprising them all in the appar- 
ent ease with which he went through the duty. 

“ You must come and see us when you have put yout 
shingle out in New York,” said Mr. Pierce, not quite know- 
ing why, having previously decided that they had had 
enough of Peter. “We shall be in the city early in Sep- 
tember, and ready to see our friends.” 

“Thank you,” replied Peter. He turned and went up- 
stairs to his room. He ought to have spent the night 
pacing his floor, but he did not. He went to bed instead. 
Whether Peter slept, we cannot say. He certainly lay 
very still, till the first ray of daylight brightened the sky. 
Then he rose and dressed. He went to the stables and 
explained to the groom that he would walk to the station, 
and merely asked that his trunk should be there in time 
to be checked. Then he returned to the house and told 
the cook that he would breakfast on the way. Finally 
he started for the station, diverging on the way, so as to 
take a roundabout road, that gave him a twelve-mile tramp 
in the time he had before the train left. 

Perhaps the hardest thing Peter encountered was 
answering his mother’s questions about the visit. Yet 
he never flinched nor dodged from a true reply, and if his 
mother had chosen, she could have had the whole story. 
But something in the way Peter spoke of Miss Pierce made 
Mrs. Stirling careful, and whatever she surmised she kepi 
to herself, merely kissing him good-night with a tender- 
ness that was unusual not merely in a New-Englander, 
but even in her. During the rest of his stay, the Pierces 
were quite as much kept out of sight, as if they had 
never been known. Mrs. Stirling was not what we 
should call a “lady,” yet few of those who rank as 
such, would have been as considerate or tender of Peter’s 
trouble, if the power had been given them to lay it 
bare. Love, sympathy, unselfishness and forbearance 
are not bad equivalents for breeding and etiquette, and 
have the additional advantage of meeting new and un- 
usual conditions which sometimes occur to even the 
most conventional. 

One hope did come to her. “Perhaps, now that” — 
and Mrs. Stirling left “ that ” blank even in her thoughts ; 
“ now my boy, my Peter, will not be so set on going to 
New York.” In this, however, she was disappointed 


FACING THE WORLD . 


33 

On the second day of his stay, Peter spoke of his intention 
to start for New York the following’ week. 

“Don’t you think you could do as well here?” said 
Mrs. Stirling. 

“Up to a certain point, better. But New York has a 
big beyond,” said Peter. “I’ll try it there first, and if I 
don’t make my way. I’ll come back here.” 

Few mothers hope for a son’s failure, yet Mrs. Stirling 
allowed herself a moment’s happiness over this possibility. 
Then remembering that her Peter could not possibly fail, 
she became despondent. “They say New York’s full of 
temptations,” she said. 

“I suppose it is, mother,” replied Peter, “to those who 
want to be tempted.” 

“ I know I can trust you, Peter,” said his mother, 
proudly, “but I want you to promise me one thing.” 
“What?” 

“That if you do yield, if you do what you oughtn’t to, 
you’ll write and tell me about it ? ” Mrs. Stirling put her 
arms about Peter’s neck, and looked wistfully into his face. 

Peter was not blind to what this world is. Perhaps, 
had his mother known it as he did, she might have seen 
how unfair her petition was. He did not like to say yes, 
and could not say no. 

“ I’ll try to go straight, mother,” he replied, “but that’s 
a good deal to promise.” 

“It’s all I’m going to ask of you, Peter,” urged Mrs. 
Stirling. 

“I have gone through four years of my life with noth- 
ing in it I couldn’t tell her,” thought Peter. “If that’s 
possible, I guess another four is.” Then he said aloud, 
“Well, mother, since you want it, I’ll do it.” 

The reason of Peter’s eagerness to get to New York, was 
chiefly to have something definite to do. He tried 
to obtain this distraction of occupation, at present, in 
a characteristic way, by taking excessively long walks, 
and by struggling with his mother’s winter supply of wood. 
He thought that every long stride and every swing of the 
axe was working him free from the crushing lack of pur- 
pose that had settled upon him. He imagined it would 
be even easier when he reached New York. “There’ll be 
plenty to keep me busy there,” was his mental hope. 

All his ambitions and plans seemed in a sense to have 


34 


THE HONORABLE PEI EE STIRLING. 


become meaningless, made so by the something which 
but ten days before had been unknown to him. Like 
Moses he had seen the promised land. But Moses died. 
He had seen it, and must live on without it. He saw 
nothing in the future worth striving for, except a struggle 
to forget, if possible, the sweetest and dearest mem- 
ory he had ever known. He thought of the epigram ; 
“Most men can die well, but few can live well.” 
Three weeks before he had smiled over it and set it 
down as a bit of French cynicism. Now — on the verge 
of giving his mental assent to the theory, a pair of 
slate-colored eyes in some way came into his mind, and 
even French wit was discarded therefrom. 

Peter was taking his disappointment very seriously, if 
quietly. Had he only known other girls, he might 
have made a safe recovery, for love’s remedy is truly 
the homeopathic “similia similibus curantur,” woman 
plural being the natural cure for woman singular. As the 
Russian in the “ Last Word ” says, “A woman can do any- 
thing with a man — provided there is no other woman.* 
In Peter’s case there was no other woman. What was 
worse, there seemed little prospect of there being one in 
the future. 


CHAPTER VIIL 

SETTLING. 

The middle of July found Peter in New York, eager to 
begin his grapple with the future. How many such 
stormers have dashed themselves against its high ramparts, 
from which float the flags of “ worldly success;” how 
many have fallen at the first attack ; how many have 
been borne away, stricken in the assault ; how many 
have fought on bravely, till driven back by pressure, 
sickness or hunger ; how few have reached the top, and 
won their colors ! 

As already hinted, Peter had chosen the law as his 
ladder to climb these ramparts. Like many another 
fellow he had but a dim comprehension of the struggle 
before him. His college mates had talked over profes- 


Settling 


35 

•ions, and agreed that law was a good one in New York. 
The attorney in his native town, “had known of cases 
where men without knowing a soul in a place, had started 
in and by hard work and merit had built up a good prac- 
tice, and I don't see why it can’t be done as well in New 
York as in Lawrence or Lowell. If New York is bigger, 
then there is more to be done." So Peter, whose New 
York acquaintances were limited to Watts and four 
other collegians, the Pierces and their fashionables, and 
a civil engineer originally from his native town, had 
decided that the way to go about it was to get an office, 
hang up a sign, and wait for clients. 

On the morning after his arrival, his first object was a 
lodging. Selecting from the papers the advertisements 
of several boarding-houses, he started in search of one. 
Watts had told him about where to locate, “so as to live 
in a decent part of the city," but after seeing and pricing 
a few rooms near the “Avenue,” about Thirtieth Street, 
Peter saw that Watts had been thinking of his own purse, 
rather than of his friend’s. 

“ Can you tell me where the cheaper boarding-houses 
are?” he asked the woman who had done the honors ol 
the last house. 

“If it’s cheapness you want, you'd better go to Bleecker 
Street,” said the woman with a certain contemptuousness. 

Peter thanked her, and, walking away, accosted the 
first policeman. 

“ It’s Blaker Strate, is it? Take the Sixth Avenue cars, 
there bey ant," he was informed. 

“ Is it a respectable street ? ” asked Peter. 

“Don’t be afther takin’ away a strate’s character,” said 
the policeman, grinning good-naturedly. 

“I mean," explained Peter, “do respectable people 
live there ? ” 

“Shure, it’s mostly boarding-houses for young men,” 
replied the unit of “ the finest” “Ye know best what 
they’re loike. ” 

Reassured, Peter sought and found board in Bleecker 
Street, not comprehending that he had gone to the op- 
posite extreme. It was a dull season, and he had no 
difficulty in getting such a room as suited both his ex- 
pectations and purse. By dinner-time he had settled his 
simple household gods to his satisfaction, and slightly 


THE HONORABLE PE TER STIRLING . 


3& 

moderated the dreariness of the third floor front, so far a9 
the few pictures and other furnishings from his college 
rooms could modify the effect of well-worn carpet, cheap, 
painted furniture, and ugly wall-paper. 

Descending to his dinner, in answer to a bell more 
suitable for a fire-alarm than for announcing such an 
ordinary occurrence as meals, he was introduced to the 
four young men who were all the boarders the summer 
season had left in the house. Two were retail dry-goods 
clerks, another filled some function in a butter and cheese 
store, and the fourth was the ticket-seller at one of the 
middle-grade theatres. They all looked at Peter’s clothes 
before looking at his face, and though the greetings were 
civil enough, Peter’s ready-made travelling suit, bought 
in his native town, and his quiet cravat, as well as his 
lack of jewelry, were proof positive to them that he 
did not merit any great consideration. It was very 
evident that the ticket-seller, not merely from his natural 
self-assertion but even more because of his enviable 
acquaintance with certain actresses and his occasional 
privileges in the way of free passes, was the acknowl- 
edged autocrat of the table. Under his guidance the 
conversation quickly turned to theatrical and “show” 
talk. Much of it was vulgar, and all of it was dull It 
was made the worse by the fact that they all tried to show 
off a little before the newcomer, to prove their superiority 
and extreme knowingness to him. To make Peter the 
more conscious of this, they asked him various ques- 
tions. 

L. “ Do you like ?'* a popular soubrette of the day. 

“What, never seen her? Where on earth have you 
"been living* ? ” 

> 4< OhI Well, shes got too good legs to waste herself 
on such a little place. ” ! 

They would like to have asked him questions about 
himself, but feared to seem to lower themselves from their 
fancied superiority, by showing interest in Peter. One 
indeed did ask him what business he was in. 

“ I haven’t got to work yet,” answered Peter. 

“ Looking for a place, ” was the mental comment of all, 
for they could not conceive of any one entitled to practise 
law not airing his advantage. So they went on patron- 
izing Peter, and glorifying themselves. When time had 


SETTLING. 


3 ? 


developed the facts that he was a lawyer, a college 
graduate, and a man who seemed to have plenty of money 
(from the standpoint of dry-goods clerks) their respect for 
him considerably increased. He could not, however, 
overcome his instinctive dislike to them. After the manly 
high-minded, cultivated Harvard classmates, every mo- 
ment of their society was only endurable, and he neither 
went to their rooms nor asked them to his. Peter hac* 
nothing of the snob in him, but he found reading or writ 
ing, or a tramp about the city, much the pleasanter way 
of passing his evenings. 

The morning after this first day in New York, Peter 
called on his friend, the civil engineer, to consult him 
about an office ; for Watts had been rather hazy in regard 
to where he might best locate that. Mr. Converse shook 
his head when Peter outlined his plan. 

“Do you know any New York people,” he asked, “who 
will be likely to give you cases ? ” 

“ No,” said Peter. 

“Then it’s absolutely foolish of you to begin that way,' 
said Mr. Converse. “Get into a lawyer's office, and 
make friends first before you think of starting by yourself 
You'll otherwise never get a client.” 

Peter shook his head. “ I’ve thought it out,” he added, 
as if that settled it. 

Mr. Converse looked at him, and, really liking the fel- 
low, was about to explain the real facts to him, when 
a client came in. So he only said, “If that’s so, go 
ahead. Locate on Broadway, anywhere between the 
Battery and Canal Street.” Later in the day, when he 
had time, he shook his head, and said, “ Poor devil 1 Like 
all the rest.” 

Anywhere between the Battery and Canal Street vepre- 
sented a fairly large range of territory, but Peter went at 
the matter directly, and for the next three days passed his 
time climbing stairs, and inspecting rooms and dark cells. 
At the end of that time he took a moderate-sized office, 
far back in a building near Worth Street. Another 
day saw it fitted with a desk, two chairs (for Peter as 
yet dreamed only of single clients) and a shelf con- 
taining the few law books that were the monuments of 
his Harvard law course, and his summer reading. On 
the following Monday, when Peter faced his office door he 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


38 

felt a glow of satisfaction at seeing in very black letters 
an the very newly scrubbed glass the sign of : 

PETEK STIRLING 

Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law. 

He had come to his office early, not merely because at 
his boarding place they breakfasted betimes, but because 
he believed that early hours were one way of winning 
success. He was a little puzzled what to do with himself. 
He sat down at his desk and thrummed it for a minute. 
Then he rose, and spread his books more along the shelf, 
so as to leave little spaces between them, thinking that 
he could make them look more imposing thereby. After 
that he took down a book — somebody “ On Torts,” — and 
dug into it. In the Harvard course, he had had two 
hours a week of this book, but Peter worked over it for 
nearly three hours. Then he took paper, and in a very 
clear, beautifully neat hand, made an abstract of what he 
had read. Then he compared his abstract with the book. 
Returning the book to the shelf, very much pleased with 
the accuracy of his memory, he looked at his watch. It 
was but half-past eleven. Peter sat down at his desk. 
“ Would all the days go like this ? ” he asked himself. He 
had got through the first week by his room and office- 
seeking and furnishing. But now ? He could not read 
law for more than foui hours a day, and get anything 
from it. What was to be done with the rest of the time ? 
What could he do to keep himself from thinking of — from 
thinking? He looked out of his one window, over the 
dreary stretch of roofs and the drearier light shafts spoken 
of flatteringly as yards. He compressed his lips, and 
resorted once more to his book. But he found his mind 
wandering, and realized that he had done all he was 
equal to on a hot July morning. Again he looked out 
over the roofs. Then he rose and stood in the middle of 
his room, thinking. He looked at his watch again, to 
make sure that he was right. Then he opened his door and 
glanced about the hall. It was one blank, except for 
the doors. He went down the two flights of stairs to the 
street. Even that had the deserted look of summer. He 
turned and went back to his room. Sitting down once more 
at his desk, and opening somebody “On Torts” again. 


MAPPWESS BY PROXY . 


3$ 

he took up his pen and began to copy the pages literally 
He wrote steadily for a time, then with pauses. Finally, 
the hand ceased to follow the lines, and became straggly. 
Then he ceased to write. The words blurred, the paper 
faded from view, and all Peter saw was a pair of slate- 
colored eyes. He laid his head down on the blotter, and 
the erect, firm figure relaxed. 

There is no more terrible ordeal of courage than passive 
waiting. Most of us can be brave with something to do, 
but to be brave for months, for years, with nothing to be 
done and without hope of the future ! So it was in Peter’s 
case. It was waiting — waiting — for what? If clients came, 
if fame came, if every form of success came,— for what? 

There is nothing in loneliness to equal the loneliness of 
a big city. About him, so crowded and compressed to- 

f ether as to risk life and health, were a million people. 

et not a soul of that million knew that Peter sat at his 
desk, with his head on his blotter, immovable, from noon 
one day till daylight of the next, 


CHAPTER IX. 

HAPPINESS BY PROXY 

The window of Peter’s office faced east, and the rays 
of the morning sun shining dazzlingly in his eyes 
forced him back to a consciousness of things mundane. 
He rose, and went downstairs, to find the night watch- 
man just opening the building. Fortunately he had al- 
ready met the man, so that he was not suspected as an 
intruder; and giving him a pleasant ‘'good-morning/' 
Peter passed into the street. It was a good morning in- 
deed, with all that freshness and coolness which even a 
great city cannot take from a summer dawn. For some 
reason Peter felt more encouraged. Perhaps it was the 
consciousness of having beaten his loneliness and misery 
by mere physical endurance. Perhaps it was only the 
natural spring of twenty years. At all events, he felt 
dimly, that miserable and unhopeful as the future looked, 
he was not conquered yet ; that he was going to fight on} 
come what might 


40 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


He turned to the river front, and after bargaining: with 
a passing cart for a pint of what the poorer people 
of the city buy as milk, he turned north, and quicken- 
ing his pace, walked till he had left the city proper 
and had reached the new avenue or * ‘ drive, ” which, by 
the liberality of Mr. Tweed with other people’s money, 
was then just approaching completion. After walking 
the length of it, he turned back to his boarding-place, and 
after a plunge, felt as if he could face and fight the future 
to any extent 

As a result of this he was for the first time late at break- 
fast. The presider over the box-office had ascertained 
that Peter had spent the night out, and had concluded he 
would have a gird or two at him. He failed, however, to 
carry out his intention. It was not the first time that 
both he and his companions had decided to “roast” 
Peter, absent, but had done otherwise with Peter, present. 
He had also decided to say to Peter, “ Who's your dandy 
letter-writer ? ” But he also failed to do that. This last 
intention referred to a letter that lay at Peter’s place, and 
which was examined by each of the four in turn. That 
letter had an air about it. It was written on linen paper of 
a grade which, if now common enough, was not so common 
at that time. Then it was postmarked from one of the 
most fashionable summer resorts of the country. Finally, 
it was sealed with wax, then very unusual, and the wax 
bore the impression of a crest. They were all rather 
disappointed when Peter put that letter in his pocket, 
without opening it 

Peter read the letter at his office that morning. It was 
as follows : 

Grey-Court, July 21st. 

Dear Old Man— 

Like a fool I overslept myself on the morning you left, so did not 
get my talk with you. You know I never get up early, and never can, 
so you have only your refusal to let me in that night to blame for our 
not having a last chat. If I had had the news to tell you that I now 
have, I should not have let you keep me out, even if you had forced me 
to break my way in. 

Chum, the nicest girl in the world has told me that she loves me, and 
we are both as happy as happy can be. I know you will not be in a 
moment’s doubt as to who sne is. I have only run down here to break 
it to my family, and shall go back to the Shrubberies early next week — 
to talk to Mr. Pierce, you understand ! 

tyly governor has decided that a couple of years’ travel will keep me 
out of mischief as well as anything else he can devise, and as the pros 


HAPPINESS BY PROXY , 


42 


aect is not unpleasant, I am not going to let my new plans interfere with 
it, merely making my joumeyings a solitude d deux y instead of solus. So 
we shall be married in September, at the Shrubberies, and sail for 
Europe almost immediately. 

Now, I want you to stand by me in this, as you have in other things, 
and help me through. I want you, in short, to be my “ best man ” as 
you have been my best friend. “ Best man,” I should inform you, is an 
English wedding institution, which our swell people have suddenly dis- 
covered is a necessity to make a marriage ceremony legal. He doesn’t 
do much. Holding his principal’s hat, I believe, is the most serious 
duty that falls to him, though perhaps not stepping on the bridal dresses 
is more difficult. 

My Mamma wants me to drive with her, so this must be continued in 
our next. 

Aft, W. 

Peter did not read law that morning. But after sitting 
in his chair for a couple of hours, looking at the opposite 
wall, and seeing something quite different, he took his 
pen, and without pause, or change of face, wrote two 
letters, as follows : 

Dear Watts : 

You hardly surprised me by your letter. I had suspected, both from 
your frequent visits to the Shrubberies, and from a way in which you 
occasionally spoke of Miss Pierce, that you loved her. After seeing 
her, I felt that it was not possible you did not. So I was quite prepared 
for your news. Y ou have indeed been fortunate in winning such a girl. 
That I wish you every joy and happiness I need not say. 

I think you could have found some other of the fellows better suited 
to stand with you, but if you think otherwise, I shall not fail you. 

You will have to tell me about details, clothes, etc. Perhaps you cart 
suggest a gift that will do ? I remember Miss Pierce saying she was very 
fond of pearls. Would it be right to give something 01 that kind ? 

Faithfully yours, Peter. 


Dear Miss Pierce : 

A letter from Watts this morning tells me of his good fortune. Fear- 
ing lest my blindness may perhaps still give you pain, I write to say that 
your happiness is the most earnest wish of my life, and nothing which 
increases it can be other than good news to me. If I can ever serve 
you in any way, you will be doing me a great favor by telling me how. 

Please give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, and believe me, 

Yours ever sincerely, 

Peter Stirling. 

After these letters were written, Peter studied the wall 
again for a time. Studied it till long after the hour when 
he should have lunched. The wall had three cracks in it 
which approximated to an outline of Italy, but though Peter 
gazed at ;his particular wall a good many hours in the 


43 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

next few weeks, he did not discover this interesting fact 
till long after this time of wall-gazing. 

In the early morning and after dinner, in spite of the 
summer heat, he took long walks. During the day he 
sat in his office doing nothing, with the exception of an 
occasional letter to his mother, and one or two to Watts 
in respect to the coming wedding. Two visits to the 
tailor’s, and another to Tiffany’s, which resulted in a pearl 
pin rather out of proportion to his purse, were almost the 
sole variations of this routine. It was really a relief to 
this terrible inactivity, when he found himself actually at 
the Shrubberies, the afternoon before the wedding. 

Peter was rather surprised at the ease with which he 
went through the next twenty-four hours. It is true that 
the house was too full, and each person too busy, to trouble 
the silent groomsman with attention, so he might have 
done pretty much what he wished, without being noticed. 
He arrived late, thus having no chance for greetings till 
after a hurried dressing for dinner, when they were made 
in the presence of the whole party, who had waited his 
coming to go to the meal. He went through the ordeal 
well, even that with Miss Pierce, actually showing less 
embarrassment than she did. What was more astonish* 
ing, he calmly offered his arm to the bridesmaid who fell 
to his lot, and, after seating her, chatted without thinking 
that he was talking. Indeed, he hardly heeded what he 
did say, but spoke mechanically, as a kind of refuge 
from thought and feeling. 

“I didn’t find him a bit so,” the girl said to Miss Pierce, 
later in the evening, with an indefiniteness which, if not 
merely feminine, must presuppose a previous conversa- 
tion. “He isn’t exactly talkative, but he is perfectly easy 
to get on with. I tried him on New York, and found he 
had gone into a good many odd places andean tell about 
them. He describes things very well, so that one sees 
them.” 

“It must be your tact, then, Miss Leroy,” said Mrs. 
Pierce, “ for we could get nothing out of him before.” 

“No? I had nothing to do with it, and, between our 
selves, I think he disapproved of me. If Helen hadn’t told 
me about him, I should have been very cool to him, his 
manner was so objectionable. He clearly talked to m<* 
because he felt it a duty, and not a pleasure, ” 


HAPPINESS BY PROXY, 


43 

“ That's only that unfortunate manner of his,* said 
Helen. “ I really think at heart hes dreadfully afraid of 
us. At least that s what Watts says. But he only be- 
haves as if — as if — well, you know what I mean, Alice ! ” 

“Exactly,” said Alice. “You can't describe it. He's 
so cool, and stolid, and silent, that you feel shoddy and 
cheap, and any simple little remark doesn’t seem enough 
to say. You try to talk up to him, and yet feel small all 
the time. ” 

“ Not at all,” said Helen. “You talk down to him, as 
if he were — were — your old grandfather, or some one else 
you admired, but thought very dull and old-fashioned.” 

“But the worst is the way he looks at you. So gravely, 
even when you try to joke. Now I really think I’m pass- 
ably pretty, but Mr. Stirling said as plainly as could be : 
‘ I look at you occasionally because that’s the proper thing 
to do, when one talks, but I much prefer looking at that 
picture over your head.’ I don’t believe he noticed how 
my hair was dressed, or the color of my eyes. Such men 
are absolutely maddening. When they’ve finished their 
smoke, I’m going to make him notice me.” 

But Miss Leroy failed in her plan, try as she would. 
Peter did not notice girls any more. After worrying in 
his school and college days, over what women thought 
of him and how they treated him, he had suddenly ceased 
to trouble himself about them. It was as if a man, after 
long striving for something, had suddenly discovered that 
he did not wish it — that to him women’s opinions had 
become worthless. Perhaps in this case it was only the 
Fox and the Grapes over again. At all events, from this 
time on Peter cared little what women did. Courteous 
he tried to be, for he understood this to be a duty. But 
that was all. They might laugh at him, snub him, avoid 
him. He cared not. He had struck women out of his 
plan of life. And this disregard, as we have already sug- 
gested, was sure to produce a strange change, not merely 
in Peter, but in women’s view and treatment of him. 
Peter trying to please them, by dull, ordinary platitudes, 
was one thing. Peter avoiding them and talking to them 
when needs must, with that distant, uninterested look 
and voice, was quite another. 

The next morning, Peter, after finding what a fifth 
wheel in a coach all men are at weddings, finally stood 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


*4 

up with his friend. He had not been asked to stay on for 
another night, as had most of the bridal party, so he 
slipped away as soon as his duty was done, and took a 
train that put him into New York that evening. A week 
later he said good-bye to the young couple, on the deck 
of a steamship. 

“ Don’t forget us, Peter,” shouted Watts, after the fasts 
were cast off and the steamer was slowly moving into 
mid-stream. 

Peter waved his hat, and turning, walked off the pier. 

“Could he forget them?" was the question he asked 
himself 


CHAPTER X. 

WAITING, 

“My friend," said an old and experienced philosopher to 
a young man, who with all the fire and impatience of his 
years wished to conquer the world quickly, “youth has 
many things to learn, but one of the most important is 
never to let another man beat you at waiting." 

Peter went back to his desk, and waited. He gave up 
looking at the wall of his office, and took to somebody 
“On Torts” again. When that was finished he went 
through the other law books of his collection. Those 
done, he began to buy others, and studied them with 
great thoroughness and persistence. In one of his many 
walks, he stumbled upon the Apprentices’ Library. Going 
in, he inquired about its privileges, and became a regular 
borrower of books. Peter had always been a reader, but 
now he gave from three or four hours a day to books, 
aside from his law study. Although he was slow the 
number of volumes, he not merely read, but really mas- 
tered was marvellous. Books which he liked, without much 
regard to their popular reputation, he at once bought ; 
for his simple life left him the ability to indulge himself in 
most respects within moderation. He was particularly 
careful to read a classic occasionally to keep up his Greek 
and Latin, and for the same reason he read French and 
German books aloud to himself. Before the year was out, 
he was a recognized quantity in certain book-stores, and 


WAITING. 


45 

was privileged to browse at will both among old and new 
books without interference or suggestion from the “ stock " 
clerks. “There isn’t any good trying to sell him anything,” 
remarked one. “ He makes up his mind for himself.” 

His reading was broadened out from the classic and 
belles-lettres grooves that were still almost a cult with 
the college graduate, by another recreation now become 
habitual with him. In his long tramps about the city, to 
vary the monotony, he would sometimes stop and chat 
with people — with a policeman, a fruit-vender, a long- 
shore-man or a truckster. It mattered little who it was. 
Then he often entered manufactories and “yards ’’and 
asked if he could go through them, studying the methods, 
and talking to the overseer or workers about the trade. 
When he occasionally encountered some one who told him 
“your kind ain’t got no business here” he usually found 
the statement “ my father was a mill-overseer” a way to 
break down the barrier. He had to use it seldom, for he 
dressed plainly and met the men in a way which seldom 
failed to make them feel that he was one of them. After 
such inspection and chat, he would get books from the 
library, and read up about the business or trade, finding 
that in this way he could enjoy works otherwise too 
technical, and really obtain a very good knowledge of 
many subjects. Just how interesting he found such books 
as “ Our Fire-Laddies,” which he read from cover to 
cover, after an inspection of, and chat with, the men of 
the nearest fire-engine station; or Latham’s “The 
Sewage Difficulty,” which the piping of uptown New 
York induced him to read ; and others of diverse types is 
questionable. Probably it was really due to his isolation, 
but it was much healthier than gazing at blanK walls. 

When the courts opened, Peter kept track o. the calen- 
dars, and whenever a case or argument promised to be 
interesting, or to call out the great lights of the profes- 
sion, he attended and listened to them. He tried to write 
out the arguments used, from notes, and finally this 
practice induced him to give two evenings a week during 
the winter mastering shorthand. It was really only 
a mental discipline, for any case of importance was 
obtainable in print almost as soon as argued, but Peter 
was trying to put a pair of slate-colored eyes out of his 
thoughts, and employed this as one of the means. 4 


4 $ 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


When winter came, and his long walks became less 
possible, he turned to other things. More from necessity 
than choice, he visited the art and other exhibitions as 
they occurred, he went to concerts, and to plays, all with 
due regard to his means, and for this reason the latter 
were the most seldom indulged in. Art and music did 
not come easy to him, but he read up on both, not merely 
in standard books, but in the reviews of the daily press, 
and just because there was so much in both that he failed 
to grasp, he studied the more carefully and patiently. 

One trait of his New England training remained to him. 
He had brought a letter from his own Congregational 
church in his native town, to one of the large churches of 
the same sect in New York, and when admitted, hired 
a sitting and became a regular attendant at both morning 
and evening service. In time this produced a call from 
his new pastor. It was the first new friend he had gained 
in New York. “He seems a quiet, well-informed fel- 
low,” was the clergyman’s comment; “ I shall make a 
point of seeing something of him. ” But he was pastor 
of a very large and rich congregation, and was a hard- 
worked and hard-entertained man, so his intention was 
not realized. 

Peter spent Christmastide with his mother, who worried 
not a little over his loss of flesh. 

“You have been overworking,” she said anxiously. 

“Why mother, I haven’t had a client yet,” laughed 
Peter. 

“They you’ve worried over not getting on,” said his 
mother, knowing perfectly well that it was nothing of the 
sort. She had hoped that Peter would be satisfied 
with his six months’ trial, but did not mention her wish. 
She marvei. „d to herself that New York had not yet dis- 
covered his greatness. 

When Peter returned to the city, he made a change in 
his living arrangements. His boarding-place had filled 
up with the approach of winter, but with the class of 
men he already knew too well. Even though he met 
them only at meals, th^' r atmosphere was intolerable 
to him. When a room u ^ t his office fell vacant, and 
went begging at a very cheap price, he decided to use 
it as a bedroom. So he moved his few belongings op 
his return from his visit to his mother’s 


WAITING. 


*7 


Although he had not been particularly friendly to the 
other boarders, nor made himself obtrusive in the least, 
not one of them failed to speak of his leaving. Two or 
three affected to be pleased, but “ Butter-and-cheese ” 
said he “was a first-rate chap,” and this seemed to gain 
the assent of the table generally. 

“I’m dreadfully sorry to lose him,” his landlady in- 
formed her other boarders, availing herself, perhaps, of the 
chance to deliver a side hit at some of them. “ He never 
has complained once, since he came here, and he kept 
his room as neat as if he had to take care of it himseli.” 

“Well,” said the box-office oracle, “I guess he's O. K., 
if he is a bit stiff ; and a fellow who's best man to a big 
New York swell, and gets his name in all the papers, 
doesn’t belong in a seven-dollar, hash-seven-days-a-week, 
Bleecker Street boarding-house.” 

Peter fitted his room up simply, the sole indulgence (if 
properly so called) being a bath, which is not a usual 
fitting of a New York business office, consciences not yet 
being tubbable. He had made his mother show him how 
to make coffee, and he adopted the Continental system of 
meals, having rolls and butter sent in, and making a 
French breakfast in his own rooms. Then he lunched 
regularly not far from his office, and dined wherever his 
afternoon walk, or evening plans carried him. He found 
that he saved no money by the change, but he saved his 
feelings, and was far freer to come and go as he chose. 

He did not hear from the honeymoon party. Watts 
had promised to write to him and send his address 
“as soon as we decide whether we pass the winter in 
Italy or on the Nile.” But no letter came. Peter called 
on the Pierces, only to find them out, and as no notice 
was taken of his pasteboard, he drew his own inference, 
and did not repeat the visit. 

Such was the first year of Peter’s New York life. He 
studied, he read, he walked, and most of all, he waited. 
But no client came, and he seemed no nearer one than 
the day he had first seen his own name on his office door. 
“How much longer will I have to wait? How long 
will my patience hold out ? ” These were the questions 
he asked himself, when for a moment he allowed himself 
to lose courage. Then he would take to a bit of wall- 
gazing, while dreaming of a oair of slate-colored eyes. 


THE HONORABLE BE TER STIRLING. 


I* 


CHAPTER XL 
NEW FRIENDS. 

Mr. Converse had evidently thought that the only wa< 
for Peter to get on was to make friends. But in this first 
year Peter did not made a single one that could be really 
called such. His second summer broadened his ac- 
quaintance materially, though in a direction which prom- 
ised him little law practice. 

When the warm weather again closed the courts and 
galleries, and brought an end to the concerts and thea- 
tres, Peter found time harder to kill, the more, because 
he had pretty well explored the city. Still he walked 
much to help pass the time, and to get outside of his 
rooms into the air. For the same reason he often car- 
ried his book, after the heat of the day was over, to one 
of the parks, and did his reading there. Not far from his 
office, eastwardly, where two streets met at an angle, 
was a small open space too limited to be called a square, 
even if its shape had not been a triangle. Here, undei 
the shade of two very sickly trees, surrounded by tall 
warehouses, were a couple of benches. Peter sat here 
many evenings smoking his pipe. Though these few 
square feet made perhaps the largest “open ” within hall 
a mile of his office, the angle was confined and 
dreary. Hence it is obvious there must have been some 
attraction to Peter, since he was such a walker, to make 
him prefer spending his time there rather than in the 
parks not far distant The attraction was the children. 

Only a few hundred feet away was one of the most 
densely crowded tenement districts of New York. It had 
no right to be there, for the land was wanted for busi- 
ness purposes, but the hollow on which it was built had 
been a swamp in the old days, and the soft land, and 
perhaps the unhealthiness, had prevented the erection of 
great warehouses and stores, which almost surrounded 
it. So it had been left to the storage of human souls 
instead of merchandise, for valuable goods need careful 


A TEW FRIENDS* 


*9 

housing, while any place serves to pack humanity. It 
was not a nice district to go through, for there was a 
sense of heat, and dirt, and smell, and crowd, and toil, 
and sorrow throughout. It was probably no nicer to live 
in, and nothing proved it better than the overflow of the 
children therefrom into the little, hot, paved, airless 
angle. Here they could be found from five in the morn- 
ing till twelve at night. Here, with guards set, to give 
notice of the approach of the children’s joy-destroying 
Siva — otherwise the policeman — they played ball. Here 
“cat” and “one old cat” render bearable many a wilt- 
ing hour for the little urchins. Here “Sally in our 
Alley” and “Skip-rope” made the little girls forget that 
the temperature was far above blood-heat. Here of an 
evening, Peter smoked and watched them. 

At first he was an object of suspicion, and the sport 
visibly ceased when he put in an appearance. But he 
simply sat on one of the benches and puffed his pipe, and 
after a few evenings they lost all fear of him, and went 
on as if he were not there. In time, an intercourse 
sprang up between them. One evening Peter appeared 
with a stick of wood, and as he smoked, he whittled at 
it with a real jack-knife I He was scrutinized by the 
keen-eyed youngsters with interest at once, and before he 
had whittled long, he had fifty children sitting in the 
shape of a semicircle on the stone pavement, watching 
his doings with almost breathless interest. When the 
result of his work actually developed into a “cat” of 
marvellous form and finish, a sigh of intense joy passed 
through the boy part of his audience. When the “ cat ” 
was passed over to their mercies, words could not be 
found to express their emotions. Another evening, the 
old clothes-line that served for a jump-rope, after having 
bravely rubbed against the pavement many thousand 
times in its endeavor to lighten the joyless life of the lit- 
tle pack, finally succumbed, worn through the centre and 
quite beyond hope of further knotting. Then Peter rose, 
and going to one of the little shops that supplied the dis- 
trict, soon returned with a real jump-rope, with wooden 
handles / So from time to time, real tops, real dolls, real 
marbles and various other real y if cheap, things, hitherto 
Only enjoyed in dreams, or at most through home-made 
attempts, found their way into the angle, and were dis* 


50 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

tributed among the little imps. They could not resist 
such subtle bribery, and soon Peter was on as familiar 
and friendly a footing as he could wish. He came to 
know each by name, and was made the umpire in all 
their disputes and the confidant in all their troubles. 
They were a dirty, noisy, lawless, and godless little com- 
munity, but they were interesting to watch, and the 
lonely fellow grew to like them much, for with all their 
premature sharpness, they were really natural, and re* 
sponded warmly to his friendly overtures. 

After a time, Peter tried to help them a little more than 
by mere small gifts. A cheap box of carpenter’s tools 
was bought, and under his superintendence, evenings 
were spent in the angle, in making various articles. A 
small wheel barrow, a knife-and-fork basket, a clock- 
bracket and other easy things were made, one at a time. 
All boys, and indeed some girls, were allowed to help. 
One would saw off the end of a plank ; another would 
rule a pencil line ; the next would plane the plank down 
to that line ; the next would bore the holes in it ; the next 
would screw it into position ; the next would sandpaper 
it. The work went very slowly, but every one who 
would, had his share in it, while the rest sat and watched. 
When the article was completed, lots were drawn for it, 
and happy was the fortunate one who drew the magnifi- 
cent prize in life’s lottery ! 

Occasionally too, Peter brought a book with him, and 
read it aloud to them. He was rather surprised to find 
that they did not take to Sunday-school stories or fairy 
tales. Wild adventures in foreign lands were the most 
effective ; and together they explored the heart of Africa, 
climbed the Swiss mountains, fought the Western Indians, 
and attempted to discover the North Pole. They had a 
curious liking for torture, blood-letting, and death. Nor 
were they without discrimination. 

“ I guess that fellow is only working his jaw,” was one 
little chap’s criticism at a certain point of the narrative of 
a well-known African explorer, rather famous for his suc- 
cess in advertising himself. Again, “that’s bully,” was 
the comment uttered by another, when Peter, rather than 
refuse their request to read aloud, had been compelled to 
choose something in Macaulay’s Essays, and had read 
the description of the Black Hole of Calcutta. “ Say, mis* 


NEW FRIENDS, 


3 * 

ter,” said another, 44 1 don’t believe that fellow wasn’t 
there, for he never could a told it like that, if he wasn’t” 
As soon as his influence was secure, Peter began to 
affect them in other ways. Every fight, every squabble, 
was investigated, and the blame put where it belonged. 
Then a mandate went forth that profanity was to cease * 
and, though contrary to every instinct and habit, cease 
it did after a time, except for an occasional uncon- 
scious slip. 44 Sporadic swearing,” Peter called it, and 
explained what it meant to the children, and why he for- 
gave that, while punishing the intentional swearer with 
exclusion from his favor. So, too, the girls were told that 
to “poke” tongues at each other, and make faces, was 
but another way of swearing; “for they all mean that 
there is hate in your hearts, and it is that which is wrong, 
and not the mere words or faces.” He ran the risk of 
being laughed at, but they didn’t laugh, for something in 
his way of talking to them, even when verging on what 
they called “goody-goody,” inspired them with re- 
spect. 

Before many weeks of this intercourse, Peter could not 
stroll east from his office without being greeted with yells 
of recognition. The elders, too, gave him “good-even- 
ing ” pleasantly and smiled genially. The children had 
naturally told their parents about him, of his wonderful 
presents, and great skill with knife and string. 

“He can whittle anything you ask 1” 

44 He knows how to make things you want ! ” 

44 He can tie a knot sixteen different kinds ! ” 

44 He can fold a newspaper into soldiers’ and firemen’s 
caps ! ” 

44 He’s friends with the policeman ! ” 

Such laudations, and a hundred more, the children sang 
of him to their elders. 

“Oh,” cried one little four-year-old girl, voicing the 
unanimous feeling of the children, 44 Mister Peter is just 
shplendid.” 

So the elders nodded and smiled when they met him, 
and he was pretty well known to several hundred 
people whom he knew not. 

But another year passed, and still no client came. 




THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


CHAPTER XII 

HIS FIRST CLIENT, 

Peter sat in his office, one hot July day, two year& 
after his arrival, writing to his mother. He had but just 
returned to New York, after a visit to her, which had left 
him rather discouraged, because, for the first time, she had 
pleaded with him to abandon his attempt and return to 
his native town. He had only replied that he was not yet 
prepared to acknowledge himself beaten ; but the request 
and his mother’s disappointment had worried him. While 
he wrote came a knock at the door, and, in response to 
his “come in,” a plain-looking laborer entered and stood 
awkwardly before him. 

“ What can I do for you ? ” asked Peter, seeing that he 
must assist the man to state his business. 

“If you please, sir,’* said the man, humbly, “it’s 
Missy. And I hope you’ll pardon me for troubling you.” 

“ Certainly,” said Peter. “ What about Missy? ” 

“ She’s — the doctor says she’s dying,” said the man, 
adding, with a slight suggestion of importance, blended 
with the evident grief he felt : “Sally, and Bridget Milli- 
gan are dead already.” 

“ And what can I do?” said Peter, sympathetically, if 
very much at sea. 

“ Missy wants to see you before she goes. It’s only a 
child’s wish, sir, and you needn’t trouble about it. But I 
had to promise her I’d come and ask you. I hope it’s no 
offence ? ” 

“ No.” Peter rose, and, passing to the next room, took 
his hat, and the two went into the street together. 

“What is the trouble?” asked Peter, as they walked. 

“ We don’t know, sir. They were all took yesterday, 
and two are dead already.” The man wiped the tears 
from his eyes with his shirt-sleeve, smearing the red brick 
dust with which it was powdered, over his face. 

“ You’ve had a doctor? * 


ms FIRST CLIENT. 53 

“ Not till this morning. We didn't think it was bad at 
flret.” 

“ What is your name ? ” 

“ Blackett, sir — Jim Blackett " 

Peter began to see daylight. He remembered both a 
Sally and Matilda Blackett. That was probably “ Missy . * 

A walk of six blocks transferred them to the centre of the 
•enement district. Two flights of stairs brought them to 
the Blackett’s rooms. On the table of the first, which was 
evidently used both as a kitchen and sitting-room, already 
lay a coffin containing a seven-year-old girl. Candles 
burned at the four corners, adding to the bad air and 
heat. In the room beyond, in bed, with a tired-looking 
woman tending her, lay a child of five. Wan and pale as 
well could be, with perspiration standing in great drops 
on the poor little hot forehead, the hand of death, as it so 
often does, had pur something into the face never there 
before. 

“ Oh, Mister Peter,” the child said, on catching sight of 
him, “ I said you’d come.” 

Peter took his handkerchief and wiped the little head. 
Then he took a newspaper, lying on a chair, twisted it 
into a rude fan. and began fanning the child as he sat on 
the bed. 

“ What did you want me for ? ” he asked. 

“ Won't yoju tell me the story you read from the book ? 
The one about the little girl who went to the country, and 
was given a live dove and real flowers.” 

Peter began telling the story as well as he could re- 
member it, but it was never finished. For while he 
talked another little girl went to the country, a far coun- 
try, from which there is no return — and a very ordinary 
little story ended abruptly. 

The father and mother took the death very calmly. 
Peter asked them a few questions, and found that there 
were three other children, the eldest of whom was ai> 
errand boy, and therefore away. The others, twin babies, 
had been cared for by a woman on the next floor. He 
asked about money, and found that they had not enough 
to pay the whole expenses of the double funeral. 

“ But the undertaker says he’ll do it handsome, and will 
let the pan I haven’t money for, run, me paying it off in 
weekly payments,” the man explained, when Peter ex- 


54 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


pressed some surprise at the evident needless expense 
they were entailing on themselves. 

While he talked, the doctor came in. 

“I knew there was no chance/’ he said, when told of 
the death. “And you remember I said so,” he added, 
appealing to the parents. 

“Yes, that’s what he said,” responded the father. 

“'Well,” said the doctor, speaking in a brisk, lively way 
peculiar to him, “ I’ve found what the matter was.” 

“ No ? ” said the mother, becoming interested at once. 

“It was the milk,” the doctor continued. “ I thought 
there was something wrong with it, the moment I smelt 
it, but I took some home to make sure.” He pulled a 
paper out of his pocket. “ That’s the test, and Dr. Plumb, 
who has two cases next door, found it was just the same 
there.” 

The Blacketts gazed at the written analysis, with 
wonder, not understanding a word of it. Peter looked 
too, when they had satisfied their curiosity. As he read 
it, a curious expression came into his face. A look not 
unlike that which his face had worn on the deck of the 
“ Sunrise.” It could hardly be called a change of expres- 
sion, but rather a strengthening and deepening of his 
ordinary look. 

“That was in the milk drunk by the children?*' ne 
asked, placing his finger on a particular line. 

“Yes,” replied the doctor. “The milk was bad to start 
with, and was drugged to conceal the fact. These car- 
bonates sometimes work very unevenly, and I presume 
this particular can of milk got more than its share of the 
doctoring. 

“There are almost no glycerides,” remarked Peter 
wishing to hold the doctor till he should have had time to 
think. 

“ No,” said the doctor. “ It was skim milk.” 

“You will report it to the Health Board?” asked Peter. 

“When I’m up there,” said the doctor. “Not that it 
will do any good. But the law requires it” 

“ Won’t they investigate ? ” 

“They’ll investigate too much. The trouble with them 
is, they investigate, but don't prosecute." 

“Thank you,” said Peter. He shook hands with the 
parents, and went upstairs to the fourth door. The crape 


MS FIRST CLIENT 


55 

on a door guided him to where Bridget Milligan lay. 
Here preparations had gone farther. Not merely were 
the candles burning, but four bottles, with the corks 
partly drawn, were on the cold cooking stove, while a 
wooden pail filled with beer, reposed in the embrace of a 
wash-tub, filled otherwise with ice. Peter asked a few 
questions. There was only an elder brother and sister. 
Patrick worked as a porter. Ellen rolled cigars. They 
had a little money laid up. Enough to pay for the 
funeral. “Mr. Moriarty gave us the whisky and beer 
at half price,” the girl explained incidentally. “Thank 
you, sir. We don’t need anything.” Peter rose to go. 
“Bridget was often speaking of you to us. And I thank 
you for what you did for her.” 

Peter went down, and called next door, to see Dr. 
Plumb’s patients. These were in a fair way for recovery. 
“They didn’t get any of the milk till last night,” the 
gray-haired, rather sad-looking doctor told him, “and I 
got at them early this morning. Then I suspected the 
milk at once, and treated them accordingly. I’ve been 
forty years doing this sort of thing, and it’s generally the 
milk. Dr. Sawyer, next door, is a new man, and doesn’t 
get hold quite as quick. But he knows more of the 
science of the thing, and can make a good analysis.” 

“You think they have a chance ? ” 

“ If this heat will let up a bit ’’said the doctor, mopping 
his forehead. “ It’s ninety-eight in here; that’s enough to 
kill a sound child. ” 

“Could they be moved?” 

“To-morrow, perhaps . n 

“ Mrs. Dooley, could you take your children away to 
the country to-morrow, if I find a place for you ? ” 

“It’s very little money I have, sir.” 

“ It won’t cost you anything. Can you leave your 
family ? ” 

“There’s only Moike. And he’ll do very well by him- 
self,” he was told. 

“Then if the children can go, be ready at 10:15 to- 
morrow, and you shall all go up for a couple of weeks 
to my mother’s in Massachusetts. They’ll have plenty of 
good food there,” he explained to the doctor, “grass and 
flowers close to the house and woods not far away.” 

“That will fix them,” said the doctor. 


56 tub honorable peter Stirling . 

“About this milk. Won’t the Health Board punish the 
sellers ? '* Peter asked. 

“Probably not," he was told. “It’s difficult to get 
them to do anything, and at this season so many of them 
are on vacations, it is doubly hard to make them stir." 

Peter went to the nearest telegraph, and sent a dispatch 
to his mother. Then he went back to his office, and 
sitting down, began to study his wall But he was not 
thinking of a pair of slate-colored eyes. He was thinking 
of his first case. He had found a client. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE CASE 

Petek went to work the next morning at an horn 
which most of us, if we are indiscreet enough to wake, 
prefer to use as the preface to a further two to four hours’ 
nap. He had spent his evening in a freshening of his 
knowledge in certain municipal laws, and other details 
which he thought he might need, and as early as five 
o’clock he was at work in the tenement district, asking 
questions and taking notes. The inquiry took little skill. 
The milk had come from the cart of a certain company, 
which passed daily through the locality, not to supply 
orders, but to peddle milk to whoever cared to buy. 
Peter had the cart pointed out that morning, but, beyond 
making a note of the exact name of the company, he paid 
no attention to it. He was aiming at biggergame than a 
milk cart or its driver. 

His work was interrupted only by his taking Mrs. 
Dooley and the two children to the train. That done, 
Peter walked northwardly and westwardly, till he had 
nearly reached the river front. It took some little 
inquiry, but after a while he stumbled on a small shanty 
which had a sign : 

NATIONAL MILK COMPANY. 

OFFICE. 

The place, however, was closed and no one around 
seemed connected with it, though a number of milk carts 


THE CASE . 


ST 

were standing* about Close to these was a long line o! 
sheds, which in turn backed up against a great brewery. 
A couple of men lounged at the door ot the sheds. 
Peter walked up to them, and asked if they could tell 
him where he could find any one connected with the 
milk company. 

“The boss is off for lunch,” said one. “I can take an 
order, if that’s what you want. ” 

Peter said it was not an order, and began chatting with 
*the men. Before he had started to question them, a third 
man, from inside the sheds, joined the group at the door. 

“ That cow’s dead,” he remarked as he came up. 

“Is it ?” said the one called Bill. Both rose, and 
went into the shed. Peter started to go with them. 

“You can’t come in,” said the new-comer. 

But Peter passed in, without paying the least attention 
to him. 

“ Come back,” called the man, following Peter. 

Peter turned to him : “ You are one of the employees 
of the National Milk Company ? ” he asked. 

“Yes,” said the man, “ and we have orders ” 

Peter usually let a little pause occur after a remark to 
him, but in this case he spoke before the man completed 
his speech. He spoke, too, with an air of decision and 
command that quieted the man. 

“Go back to your work,” he said, “and don’t order 
me round. I know what I’m about.” Then he walked 
after the other two men as rapidly as the dimness per- 
mitted. The employee scratched his head, and then 
followed. 

Dim as the light was, Peter could discern that he was 
passing between two rows of cows, with not more than 
space enough for men to pass each other between the 
rows. It was filthy, and very warm, and there was a 
peculiar smell in the air which Peter did not associate 
with a cow stable. It was a kind of vapor which brought 
some suggestion to his mind, yet one he could not iden- 
tify. Presently he came upon the two men. One had 
lighted a lantern and was examining a cow that lay on 
the ground. That it was dead was plain. But what 
most interested Peter, although he felt a shudder of horror 
at the sight, were the rotted tail and two great sores on 
the flank that lay uppermost 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


58 


“That’s a bad-looking cow,” he said 

“Ain’t it ? ” replied the one with the lantern. “ But you 
can’t help their havin’ them, if you feed them on mash.” 

“Hold your tongue, Bill,” said the man who had fol- 
lowed Peter. 

“Take some of your own advice,” said Peter, turning 
quickly, and speaking in a voice that made the man 
step back. A terrible feeling was welling up in Peter’s 
heart. He thought of the poor little fever-stricken 
children. He saw the poor fever-stricken cow He 
would like to — to •. 

He dropped the arm he had unconsciously raised 
“Give me that lantern,” he demanded. 

The man hesitated and looked at the others. 

“Give me that lantern,” said Peter, speaking low, but. 
his voice ringing very clear. 

The lantern was passed to him, and taking it, he walked 
along the line of cows. He saw several with sores more 
or less developed. One or two he saw in the advanced 
stages of the disease, where the tail had begun to rot 
away. The other men followed him on his tour of inspec- 
tion, and whispered together nervously. It did not take 
Peter long to examine all he wanted to see. Handing back 
the lantern at the door, he said : “Give me your names.” 

The men looked nonplussed, and shifted their weights 
uneasily from leg to leg. 

“You,” said Peter, looking at the man who had inter- 
fered with him. 

“ Wot do yer want with it?” he was asked 

“That’s my business. What’s your name?” 

“John Tingley.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“310 West 6 1st Street.” 

Peter obtained and wrote down the names and ad 
dresses of the trio. He then went to the “ office ” of the 
company, which was now opened 

“ Is this an incorporated company ? ” he asked of the 
man tilted back in a chair. 

“No,” said the man, adding two chair legs to terra 
firma, and looking at Peter suspiciously. 

“Who owns it? ” Peter queried 

“ I’m the boss. ” 

“ That isn’t what I asked ” 


THE CASE, 


k* 

‘'That’o what I answered." 

3 ‘And your name is ? " 

“ James Coldman.” 

“ Do you intend to answer my question ? * 

“Not till I know your business. 

"I'm here to find out against whom to get warrants for 
4 criminal prosecution." 

“ For what? ” 

“The warrant will say.” 

The man squirmed in his chair. “Will you gave me 
till to-morrow ? ” 

“No. The warrant is to be issued to-day. Decide 
at once, whether you or your principal, shall be the man 
to whom it shall be served.” 

“ I guess you'd better make it against me,” said the man. 

“Very well,” said Peter. “ Of course you know your 
employer will be run down, and as I’m not after the rest 
of you, you will only get him a few days’ safety at the 
price of a term in prison.” 

“Well, I’ve got to risk it,” said the man. 

Peter turned and walked away. He went down town 
to the Blacketts. 

“I want you to carry the matter to the courts,” he told 
the father. “ These men deserve punishment, and if you’ll 
let me go on with it, it shan’t cost you anything ; and by 
bringing a civil suit as well, you’ll probably get some 
money out of it” 

Blackett gave his assent. So too did Patrick Milligan, 
and “ Moike ” Dooley. They had won fame already by 
the deaths and wakes, but a “coort case” promised 
to give them prestige far beyond what even these dis- 
tinctions conferred. So the three walked away proudly 
with Peter, and warrants were sworn to and issued against 
the “boss ” as principal, and the driver and the three other? 
as witnesses, made returnable on the following morning. 
On many a doorstep of the district, that night, nothing 
else was talked of, and the trio were the most envied men 
in the neighborhood. Even Mrs. Blackett and Ellen 
Milligan forgot their grief, and held a joint soirke on their 
front stoop. 

“Shure, it’s mighty hard for Mrs. Dooley, that she’s 
away ! ” said one. “ She’ll be feeling bad when she know** 
what she’s missed ” 


fin THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

The next morning, Peter, the two doctors, the Blacketts, 
the Milligans, Dooley, the milk quintet, and as manj 
inhabitants of the “ district ” as could crush their way in, 
were in court by nine o’clock. The plaintiffs and theii 
friends were rather disappointed at the quietness of the pro- 
ceedings. The examinations were purely formal except in 
one instance, when Peter asked for the “name or names 
of the owner or owners ” of the National Milk Company. 
Here the defendant’s attorney, a shrewd criminal lawyer, 
interfered, and there was a sharp passage at arms, in 
which an attempt was made to anger Peter. But he kept 
his head, and in the end carried his point. The owner 
turned out to be the proprietor of the brewery, as Peter 
had surmised, who thus utilized the mash from his vats in 
feeding cattle. But on Peter’s asking for an additional 
warrant against him, the defendant’s lawyer succeeded in 
proving, if the statement of the overseer proved it, that 
the brewer was quite ignorant that the milk sold in the 
“district ” was what had been unsalable the day before to 
better customers, and that the skimming and doctoring 
of it was unknown to him. So an attempt to punish the 
rich man as a criminal was futile. He could afford to pay 
for straw men. 

“ Arrah ! ” said Dooley to Peter as they passed out of the 
court, “Oi think ye moight have given them a bit av 
yer moind.” 

“ Wait till the trial,” said Peter. “ We mustn’t use up 
our powder on the skirmish line.” 

So the word was passed through the district that “ theer’d 
be fun at the rale trial,” and it was awaited with intense 
interest by five thousand people. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

NEW YORK JUSTICE. 

Peter saw the District Attorney the next morning for a 
few moments, and handed over to him certain memoranda 
of details that had not appeared in the committing court*? 
record. 

** It shall go before the grand jury day after to-morrow, 


NEW YORK JUSTICE. 6l 

that official told him, without much apparent interest in 
the matter. w 

“How soon can it be tried, if they find a true bill ? 
asked Peter. 

4 4 Can’t say,” replied the official. 

"I merely wished to know,” said Peter, “ because three 
of the witnesses are away, and I want to have them back 
in time.” 

“Probably a couple of weeks,” yawned the man, and 
Peter, taking- the hint, departed. 

The rest of the morning was spent in drawing up the 
papers in three civil suits against the rich brewer. Peter 
filed them as soon as completed, and took the necessary 
steps for their prompt service. 

These produced an almost immediate result, in the shape 
of a call the next morning from the same lawyer who had 
defended the milkmen in the preliminary examination. 
Peter, as he returned from his midday meal, met the lawyer 
on the stairs. 

‘ 4 Ah, Mr. Stirling. Good-morning, ” said the man, whose 
name was Dummer. “ I’ve just left your office, finding it 
closed. ” 

“Come in,” said Peter. 

The lawyer glanced around the plain room, and a quiet 
look of satisfaction came over his face. The two sat 
down. 

“About those cases, Mr. Stirling?” 

“ Well ? ” 

“For reasons you can easily understand, we don't wish 
them to come to trial.” 

“Well?” 

“And we take it for granted that your clients will be 
quite willing to settle them.” 

“We will talk about that, after the criminal trial if 
over. ” 

“Why not now?" 

“Because we hope to make Coldman speak the truth in 
the trial, and thus be able to reach Bohlmann.” 

“You’re wasting your time.” 

“ Not if there’s the smallest chance of sending the brewer 
to prison. ” 

“ There isn’t. Coldman will stick to what he said if the 
thing is ever tried, which it won’t be." 


62 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


Peter eyed Dummer without changing 1 a muscle. “ The 
District Attorney told me that it ought to be in the courts 
in a couple of weeks/' 

Dummer smiled blandly, and slowly closed one eye, 
“The District Attorney tries to tell the truth,” he said, 
“ and I have no doubt he thought that was what he was 
telling you. Now, name your figure ? ” 

“The civil suits will not be compromised till the crim- 
inal one is finished.” 

“But I tell you the criminal one is dead. Squashed. 
Bohlmann and I have seen the right people, and they’ve 
seen the District Attorney. That case won’t even go to 
the grand jury. So now, drop it, and say what you’ll 
settle the civil suits for? ” 

“James Coldman shall go to prison for killing those 
children,” said Peter, “and till he does, it is waste time 
to talk of dropping or settling anything.” 

“ Humph,” half laughed the lawyer, though with ob- 
vious disgust at the mulishness in Peter’s face and voice. 
“ You think you know it all. But you don’t You can 
work for ten years, and that case will be no nearer trial 
than it is to-day. I tell you, young man, you don’t know 
New York.” 

“ I don’t know New York,” said Peter, “but ” 

“Exactly,” interrupted Dummer. “And I do.” 

“Probably,” replied Peter quietly. “You may know 
New York, Mr. Dummer, but you don’t know me, That 
case shall be tried. ” 

“Well,” laughed Dummer, “if you'll agree not to press 
the civil suits, till that’s out of the way, we shall have no 
need to compromise. Good-day.” 

The next morning Peter went to the District Attorney’s 
office, and inquired for him. 

“ He’s gone to Bar Harbor for a couple of weeks’ vaca- 
tion,” he was told. 

“ Whom must I see in his stead ? ” And after some time 
Peter was brought face to face with the acting official. 

“ Mr. Nelson told me he should present the Coldman case 
to the grand jury to-day, and finding he has left the city, 
I wish to know who has it in charge ? ” asked Peter. 

“ He left all the presentments with me,” the deputy re 
plied, “ but there was no such case as that” 


NEW YORK JUSTICE. 63 

“ Could he have left it with some one else to attend 
co ? ” 

“No.” 

Peter went back to his office, took down the Code 
and went over certain sections. His eyes had rather a 
sad look as they gazed at his wall, after his study, as if 
what he had read had not pleased him. But if the eyes 
were sad, the heavy jaw had a rigidness and setness 
which gave no indication of weakness or yielding. 

For two weeks Peter waited, and then once more in- 
vaded officialdom. 

“The District Attorney’s engaged, and can’t see you,” 
he was told. Peter came again in the afternoon, with the 
same result. The next morning, brought only a like 
answer, and this was duplicated in the afternoon. The 
third day he said he would wait, and sat for hours in the 
ante-room, hoping to be called, or to intercept the officer. 
But it was only to see man after man ushered into the 
private office, and finally to be told that the District 
Attorney had gone to lunch, and would not return that 
day. The man who told him this grinned, and evidently 
considered it a good joke, nor had Peter been unconscious 
that all the morning the clerks and underlings had been 
laughing, and guying him as he waited. Yet his jaw was 
only set the more rigidly, as he left the office. 

He looked up the private address of the officer in the 
directory, and went to see him that evening. He was 
wise enough not to send in his name, and Mr. Nelson 
actually came into the hall to see him. 

The moment he saw Peter, however, he said: “Oh, 
it’s you. Well, I never talk business except in business 
hours. ” 

“I have tried to see you ” began Peter, 

“Try some more,” interrupted the man, smiling, and 
going toward the parlor. 

Peter followed him, calmly. “ Mr. Nelson,” he said, 
do you intend to push that case ? ” 

“Of course,” smiled Nelson. “ After I’ve finished 
four hundred indictments that precede it” 

“Not till then ? ” 

“No.” 

“Mr. Nelson, can’t you overlook politics for a moment, 
and think of— — ” 


64 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“ Who said anything of politics ?” interrupted Nelsoa 
“ I merely tell you there are indictments which have been 
in my office for five years and are yet to be tried, and 
that your case is going to take its turn.” Nelson passed 
into the back room, leaving his caller alone. 

Peter left the room, and passed out of the front door* 
just as a man was about to ring the bell. 

' “ Is Mr. Nelson in ? ” asked the man. 
f “ I have just left him, Mr. Dummer,” said Peter. 

. “ Ah 1 Good-evening, Mr. Stirling. I think I can 
guess your business. Well. How do you come on ? * 
Dummer was obviously laughing internally. 

Peter started down the steps without answering. 

“ Perhaps I can help you? ” said Dummer. “ I know 
Mr. Nelson very well in politics, and so does Mr. Bohl- 
mann. If you’ll tell me what you are after, I’ll try to say 
a good word for you ? ” 

“ I don’t need your help, thank you,” said Peter 
calmly. 

‘ ‘ Good,” said Dummer. ** You think a briefless law- 
yer of thirty can go it alone, do you, even against the 
whole city government ? ” 

“ I know I have not influence enough to get that case 
pushed, Mr. Dummer, but the law is on my side, and 
I’m not going to give up yet.” 

“ Well, what are you going to do about it ? ” said 
Dummer, sneeringly. 

“ Fight,” said Peter, walking away. 

He went back to hfs office, and sitting at his desk, 
wrote a formal letter to the District Attorney, calling his 
attention to the case, and asking information as to when 
it would be brought to trial. Then he copied this, and 
mailed the original. Then he read the Code again. 
After that he went over the New York reports, making 
notes. For a second time the morning sun found Peter 
still at his desk. But this time his head was not bowed 
upon his blotter, as if he were beaten or dead. His whole 
figure was stiff with purpose, and his jaw was as rigid as 
a mastiffs. 


THE FIGHT. 


65 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE FIGHT. 

The only reply which Peter received to his letter to 
the District- Attorney, was a mere formal reiteration ot 
that officer’s verbal statement, that the case would be 
taken up in its due order, after those which preceded it had 
been dealt with. Peter knew enough of the numberless 
cases which never reach trial to understand that this 
meant in truth, the laying aside of the case, till it was 
killed by the statute of limitations. 

On receiving this reply, Peter made another move, by 
going to three newspapers, and trying to see their manag- 
ing editors. One declined to see him. A second merely 
told Peter, after his statement, which the editor only 
allowed him partly to explain, that he was very busy and 
could not take time to look into it, but that Peter might 
come again in about a month. The third let Peter tell 
his story, and then shook his head : 

‘‘I have no doubt you are right, but it isn’t in shape 
for us to use. Such a case rarely goes to trial for six 
months or a year, and so, if we begin an attack now, it 
will simply fall flat. If you can get us a written state- 
ment from the District Attorney that he doesn’t intend to 
push the case, we can do something, but I suppose he’s 
far too shrewd to commit himself.” 

“ Yes.” 

“Then there’s no use in beginning an attack, for you 
really have no powder. Come in again a year from now, 
and then we may be able to say something, if he hasn’t 
acted in the meantime.” 

Peter left the office, knowing that that chance of press- 
ure was gone. If the papers of the Republican party 
would not use it, it was idle spending time in seeing or 
trying to see the editors of the Democratic papers. He 
wasted therefore no more efforts on newspapers. 

The next three days Peter passed in the New York Law 
Institute Library, deep in many books. Then he packed 
«? 


$6 


T&E HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


his bag, end took an afternoon train for Albany. He 
was going to play his last card, with the odds of a thou- 
sand to one against his winning. But that very fact only 
nerved him the more. 

Promptly at ten o’clock, the morning after his arrival at 
'he state capital, he sent in his card to the Governor, 
fortunately for him, the middle of August is not a busy 
ime with that official, and after a slight delay, he was 
ishered into the executive chamber. 

Peter had be'en planning this interview for hours, and 
without explanation or preamble, he commenced his 
statement He knew that he must interest the Governor 
promptly, or there would be a good chance of his being 
bowed out. So he began with a description of the cow- 
stables. Then he passed to the death of the little child. 
He sketched both rapidly, not taking three minutes to do 
it, but had he been pleading for his own life, he could not 
nave spoken more earnestly nor feelingly. 

The Governor first looked surprised at Peter's abrupt* 
ness ; then weary ; then interested ; and finally turned 
his revolving chair so as to put his back to Peter. And 
after Peter had ended his account, he remained so for 
a moment. That back was very expressive to Peter. For 
the first time he felt vanquished. 

But suddenly the Governor turned, and Peter saw tears 
on his cheek. And he said, after a big swallow, 4 4 What 
do you want of me ? ” in a voice that meant everything 
to Peter. 

“Will you listen to me for five minutes ? ” asked Peter, 
eagerly. 

“Yes.” 

Then Peter read aloud a statement of the legal pro- 
ceedings, and of his interviews with the District Attorney 
and with Dummer, in the clearest and most compact 
sentences he had been able to frame. 

“You want me to interfere? "asked the Governor. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I’m afraid it’s not possible. I can of course remove 
the District Attorney, but it must be for cause, and I dc 
not see that you can absolutely prove his non intentior 
to prosecute those scoundrels.” 

“That is true. After study, I did not see that yot 
could remove him. But there’s another remedy.” 


THE FIGHT 


67 


u What is that ? n 

“ Through the State Attorney you can appoint a special 
counsel for this case.” 

“Are you sure ? ” 

Peter laid one of the papers in his hands before the 
Governor. After reading it, the Governor rang a bell. 

‘Send for Mr. Miller/' he said to the boy. Then he 
turned, and with Peter went over the court papers, till 
Mr. Miller put in an appearance. 

“State the matter to Mr. Miller,” said the Governor, 
and Peter read his paper again and told what he wished 

“The power unquestionably exists,” said the Attorney 
General. “But it has not been used in many years. Per 
haps I had better look into it a bit.” 

“Go with Mr. Miller, Mr. Stirling, and work over your 
papers with him,” said the Governor. 

“Thank you,” said Peter simply, but his hand and face 
and voice said far more, as he shook hands. He went 
out with the first look of hope his face had worn for two 
years. 

The ground which the Attorney-General and his subordi- 
nates had to traverse was that over which Peter had so 
well travelled already, that he felt very much at home, 
while his notes indeed aided the study, and were doubly 
welcomed, because the summer season had drained the 
office of its underlings. Half as assistant, and half as 
principal, he worked till three o'clock, with pleasure that 
grew, as he saw that the opinion of the Attorney-General 
seemed to agree more and more with his own. Then 
they returned to the Governor, to whom the Attorney- 
General gave his opinion that his present conclusion 
was that the Governor could empower him, or some 
appointee, to prosecute the case. 

“ Well,” said the Governor, “ I'm glad you think so. 
But if we find that it isn't possible, Mr. Stirling, I’ll have 
a letter written to the District Attorney that may scare 
him into proceeding with the case.” 

Peter thanked him, and rose to go. 

“Are you going to New York at once?” asked the 
iovemor. 

“ Yes. Unless I can be of use here.” 

“ Suppose you dine with me, and take a late train ? ” 

“ It will be a great pleasure. ” said Peter. 


68 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


'‘Very well. Six sharp." Then after Peter had left the 
room, the Governor asked, “How is he on law?" 

“Very good. Clear-headed and balanced.” 

“He knows how to talk,” said the Governor. “He 
brought my heart up in my mouth as no one has done in 
years. Now, I must get word to some of the people in 
New York to find out who he is, and if this case has any 
concealed boomerang in it.” 

The dinner was a very quiet one with only the Gover- 
nor and his wife. The former must have told his better* 
half something about Peter, for she studied him with a 
very kind look in her face, and prosaic and silent as 
Peter was, she did not seem bored. After the dinner was 
eaten, and some one called to talk politics with the Gover- 
nor, she took Peter off to another room, and made him 
tell her about the whole case, and how he came to take it 
up, and why he had come to the Governor for help. She 
cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went upstairs 
and looked at her own two sleeping boys, quite large 
enough to fight the world on their own * account, but still 
little children to the mother's heart, and had another 
cry over them. She went downstairs later to the Gover- 
nor’s study, and interrupting him in the work to which he 
had settled down, put her arms about his neck, and kissed 
him. “You must help him, William,” she said. “Do 
everything you can to have those scoundrels punished, and 
let him do it. ” 

The Governor only laughed ; but he pushed back his 
work, and his wife sat down, and told of her admiration 
and sympathy for Peter’s fight. There was a bad time 
ahead for the criminal and his backers. They rirght 
have political influence of the strongest character, fighting 
their battle, but there was a bigger and more secret one 
at work. Say what we please, the strongest and most 
subtle “ pull ” this world as yet contains is the under- 
current of a woman’s influence. 

Peter went back to New York that night, feeling hope- 
ful, yet doubtful. It almost seemed impossible that 
he had succeeded, yet at twenty-three, failure is hard to 
believe in. So he waited, hoping to see some move on 
the part of the State, and dreaming of nothing better. 
But better came, for only five days after his return his 
mail brought him a large envelope, and inside that em 


THE FIGHT. 


69 

/elope was a special commission, which made Peter a 
deputy of the Attorney-General, to prosecute in the Court 
of Sessions, the case of “ The People of the State of New 
York versus James Coldman.” If any one could have 
seen Peter’s face, as he read the purely formal instrument, 
he would not have called it dull or heavy. For Peter 
knew that he had won ; that in place of justice blocking 
and hindering him, every barrier was crushed down ; that 
this prosecution rested with no officials, but was for him 
to push ; that that little piece of parchment bound every 
court to support him ; that if necessary fifty thousand 
troops would enforce the power which granted it. Within 
three hours, the first formal steps to place the case in 
the courts had been taken, and Peter was working at 
the evidence and law in the matter. 

These steps produced a prompt call from Dummer, 
who showed considerably less assurance than hitherto, 
even though he tried to take Peter’s success jauntily. 
He wanted Peter to drop the whole thing, and hinted 
at large sums of money, but Peter at first did not 
notice his hints, and finally told him that the case should 
be tried. Then Dummer pleaded for delay. Peter was 
equally obdurate. Later they had a contest in the 
court over this. But Peter argued in a quiet way, which 
nevertheless caught the attention of the judge, who ended 
the dispute by refusing to postpone. The judge hadn’t 
intended to act in this way, and was rather surprised at 
his own conduct. The defendant’s lawyer was furious. 

No stone was left unturned, however, to prevent the 
case going to trial. Pressure of the sharpest and closest 
kind was brought to bear on the Governor himself— pres- 
sure which required backbone to resist. But he stood by 
his act : perhaps because he belonged to a different party 
than that in control of the city government; perhaps 
because of Peter’s account, and the truthfulness in his 
face as he told it ; perhaps because the Attorney-General 
had found it legal ; perhaps because of his wife ; perhaps 
it was a blending of all these. Certain it is, that all 
attempts to block failed, and in the last week in August 
it came before the court. 

Peter had kept his clients informed as to his struggles, 
and they were tremendously proud of the big battle and 
ultimate success, as indeed were the residents of the whole 


7 ° 


THE HO HOE ABLE PETER STIRLING. 


district, who felt that it was really their own case. Then 
the politicians were furious and excited over it, while the 
almost unexampled act of the Governor had created a 
good deal of public interest in the case. So the court was 
packed and the press had reporters in attendance. Since 
the trial was fully reported, it is needless to go over the 
testimony here. What Peter could bring out, is already 
known. The defence, by “experts/’ endeavored to prove 
that the cowsheds were not in a really unhygienic con- 
dition ; that feeding cows on “ mash” did not affect their 
milk, nor did mere “skin sores ; ” that the milk had been 
sold by mistake, in ignorance that it was thirty-six hours 
old, and skimmed; and that the proof of this particular 
milk being the cause of the deaths was extremely inade- 
quate and doubtful. The only dramatic incident in the 
testimony was the putting the two little Dooleys (who 
had returned in fat and rosy condition, the day before) on 
the stand. 

“ Did you find country milk different from what you 
have here ? ” Peter asked the youngest. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said. “ Here it comes from a cart, but 
in the country it squirts from a cow.” 

“ Order,” said the judge to the gallery. 

“Does it taste differently ? ” 

“Yes. It’s sweet, as if they put sugar in it. It’s 
lovely ! I like cow milk better than cart milk.” 

“Damn those children!” said Dummer, to the man 
next him. 

The event of the trial came, however, when Peter 
summed up. He spoke quietly, in the simplest language, 
using few adjectives and no invective. But as the girl at 
*he Pierces’ dinner had said, “ he describes things so that 
one sees them.” He told of the fever-stricken cows, and 
he told of the little fever-stricken children in such a way 
that the audience sobbed ; his clients almost had to be 
ordered out of court ; the man next Dummer mopped his 
eyes with his handkerchief; the judge and jury thought- 
fully covered their eyes (so as to think the better); the 
reporters found difficulty (owing to the glary light), in 
writing the words despite their determination not to miss 
one ; and even the prisoner wiped his eyes on his sleeve. 
Peter was unconscious that he was making a great speech ; 
great in its simplicity, and great in its pathos. He after 


THE CONSEQUENCES. 7 * 

wards said he had not given it a moment’s thought and had 
merely said what he felt. Perhaps his conclusion indi- 
cated why he was able to speak with the feeling he did 
For he said : 

“This is not merely the case of the State versus James 
Coldman It is the case of the tenement-house children, 
against the inhumanity of man’s greed.” 

Dummer whispered to the man next him, “There’s no 
good. He’s done for us.” Then he rose, and made a 
clever defence. He knew it was wasting his time. The 
judge charged against him, and the jury gave the full 
verdict : “Man-slaughter in the first degree.” Except 
for the desire for it, the sentence created little stir. 
Every one was still feeling and thinking of Peter’s speech. 

And to this day that speech is talked of in “ the dis- 
trict” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE CONSEQUENCES. 

Nor was it the district alone which talked of the speech. 
Perhaps the residents of it made their feelings most mani- 
fest, for they organized a torch-light procession that night, 
and went round and made Peter an address of thanks, 
Mr. Dennis Moriarty being the spokesman. The judge 
shook hands with him after the trial, and said that he had 
handled his case well. The defendant’s lawyer told him 
he “knew his business.” A number of the reporters 
sought a few words with him, and blended praise with 
questions. 

The reporters did far more than this, however. It was 
the dull newspaper season, and the case had turned out 
to be a thoroughly “journalistic” one. So they ques- 
tioned and interviewed every one concerned, and after 
cleverly winnowing the chaff, which in this case meant 
the dull, from the gleanings, most of them gave several 
columns the next morning to the story. Peter’s speech 
was printed in full, and proved to read almost as well as 
it had sounded. The reporters were told, and repeated 
the tales without much attempt at verification, that Peter 
had taken the matter up without hope of profit ; had paid 


72 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


fie costs out of his own pocket ; had refused to settle, 
“though offered nine thousand dollars ; ” had “saved the 
Dooley children’s lives by sending them into the country; * 
and “ had paid for the burials of the little victims. ** So 
all gave him a puff, and two of the better sort wrote 
really fine editorials about him. At election time, or any 
other than a dull season, the case would have had small 
attention, but August is the month, to reverse an old 
adage, when “ any news is good news. ” 

The press began, too, a crusade against the swill-milk 
dealers, and the men who had allowed all this to be pos- 
sible. “What is the Health Board about, that poison 
for children can be sold in the public streets ?” “ Where 

is the District Attorney, that prosecutions for the public 
good have to be brought by public-spirited citizens ? ” they 
demanded. Lynx-eyed reporters tracked the milk-sup- 
plies of the city, and though the alarm had been given, 
and many cows had been hastily sent to the country, they 
were able to show up certain companies, and print 
details which were quite lurid enough, when sufficiently 
“colored” by their skilful pens. Most residents of New 
York can remember the “swill-milk” or “stump-tail 
milk ” exposures and prosecutions of that summer, and of 
the reformation brought about thereby in the Board of 
Health. As the details are not pleasant reading, any one 
who does not remember is referred to the daily press, and, 
if they want horrible pictures, to Frank Leslie’s Illustrated 
Weekly. Except for the papers, it is to be questioned if 
Peter’s case would have resulted in much more than the 
punishment of the man actually convicted ; but by the 
press taking the matter up, the moment’s indignation was 
deepened and intensified to a degree which well-nigh 
swept every cow-stable off the island, and drove the 
proper officials into an activity leading to great reforms. 

No one was more surprised than Peter, at the sudden 
notoriety, or at the far-reaching results. He collected the 
articles, and sent them to his mother. He wrote : 

"Don’t think that this means any great start. In truth, I am 
a hundred dollars the poorer for the case, and shall have to cut oft 
a few expenses for the rest of the year. I tell you this, because I know 
you will not think for a moment that I grudge the money, and you 
are not to spoil my trifling self-denial by any offer of assistance. 
You did quite enough in taking in those two little imps. Were they 


THE CONSEQUENCES, 


n 

#cryb«d? Did they tramp on your flowers, and frighten poor old 
Russet [Russet was the cat] out of his fast waning lives? It was a 
great pleasure to me to see them so plump and brown, and I thank you 
for it. Their testimony in court was really amusing, though at the same 
time pathetic. People tell me that my speech was a good one. Wha£ 
is more surprising, they tell me that I made the prisoner, and Mr. Bohl- 
mann, the brewer, who sat next to Dummer, both cry. I confess I 
grieve over the fact that I was not prosecuting Bohlmann. He is the 
real criminal, yet goes scot free. But the moral effect is, I suppose, the 
important thing, and any one to whom responsibility could be traced 
(and convicted) gives us that. I find that Mr. Bohlmann goes to the 
same church I attend ! ” 

His mother was not surprised. She had always known 
her Peter was a hero, and needed no “York papers” to 
teach her the fact. Still she read every line of the case, 
and of the subsequent crusade. She read Peter’s speech 
again and again, stopping to sob at intervals, and hug- 
ging the clipping to her bosom from time to time, as the 
best equivalent for Peter, while sobbing : “ My boy, my 
darling boy.” Every one in the mill-town knew of it, and 
the clippings were passed round among Peter’s friends, 
beginning with the clergyman and ending with his school- 
boy companions. They all wondered why Peter had 
spoken so briefly. “ If I could talk like that,” said a law- 
yer to the proud mother, “ I’d have spoken for a couple 
of hours.” Mrs. Stirling herself wished it had been longer. 
Four columns of evidence, and only a little over a half 
column of speech ! It couldn’t have taken him twenty 
minutes at the most. “ Even the other lawyer, who had 
nothing to say but lies, took over a column to his speech, 
And his was printed close together, while that of Peter’s 
was spread out ( e.g . solid and leaded) making the differ- 
ence in length all the greater." Mrs. Stirling wondered 
if there could be a conspiracy against her Peter, on the 
part of the Metropolitan press. She had promptly sub- 
scribed for a year to the New York paper which glorified 
Peter the most, supposing that from this time on his name 
would appear on the front page. When she found it did 
not and that it was not mentioned in the press and 
Health Board crusade against the other “ swill-milk ” 
dealers, she became convinced that there was some definite 
attempt to rob Peter of his due fame. “ Why, Peter began 
it all,” she explained, “and now the papers and Health 
Board pretend it’s all their doings.” She wrote a letter to 
the editor of the paper — a letter which was passed round 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


74 

the office, and laughed over not a little by the staff. She 
never received an answer, nor did the paper give Peter 
the more attention because of it. 

Two days after the trial, Peter had another call from 
Dummer. 

“You handled that case in great style, Mr. Stirling,*' he 
told Peter. “You know the ropes as well as far older men. 
You got just the right evidence out of your witnesses, and 
not a bit of superfluous rubbish. That's the mistake most 
young men make. They bury their testimony in un- 
essential details. I tell you, those two children were 
worth all the rest put together. Did you send them to 
the country on purpose to get that kind of evidence ? ” 

“No,” said Peter. 

“ Well, every man in that jury was probably a father, 
3nd that child’s talk took right hold of them. Not but that 
your speech would have done the business. You were 
mighty clever in just telling what you saw, and not going 
into the testimony. You could safely trust the judge to 
do that It was a great speech. ” 

“ Thank you,” said Peter. 

“ He’s not to be taffied,” thought the lawyer. “ Plain 
talking’s the way to deal with him.” He ended his 
allusions to the trial, and said : “Now, Mr. Stirling, Mr. 
Bohlmann doesn’t want to have these civil suits go any 
further. Mr. Bohlmann’s a man of respectability, with a 
nice wife and some daughters. The newspapers are giv- 
ing him quite enough music without your dragging him 
into court.” 

“ It’s the only way I can reach him,” said Peter. 

“But you mustn’t want to reach him. He’s really a 
well-meaning man, and if you ask your clergyman — for I 
believe you go to Dr. Purple’s church ? — you’ll find he’s 
very charitable and generous with his money.” 

Peter smiled curiously. “Distributing money made 
that way is not much of a charity.” 

“ He didn’t know,” said the lawyer. Then catching a 
look which came into Peter’s face, he instantly added, “ at 
least, he had no idea it was that bad. He tells me that 
he hadn’t been inside those cow-sheds for four years,” 

“Come and see me to-morrow,” said Peter. 

After Dummer had gone, Peter walked uptown, and suv 
his clergyman. 


THE CONSEQUENCES. 


n 

•'Yes,” he was told, “ Mr. Bohlmann has always stood 
high in the church, and has been liberal and sensible with 
his money. I can’t tell you how this whole thing has sur- 
prised and grieved me, Mr. Stirling. It must be terrible 
for his wife. His daughters, too, are such nice sweet girls. 
You've probably noticed them in church? ” 

“No.” Peter had not noticed them. He did not add 
that he did not notice young girls — that for some reason 
■they had not interested him since — since 

“Where does he live ? ” inquired Peter. 

“ Not ten blocks from here,” replied Dr. Purple, and 
earned the street and number. 

Peter looked at his watch and, thanking the clergyman, 
took his leave. He did not go back to his office, but to 
the address, and asked for Mr. Bohlmann. A respect- 
able butler showed him into a handsome parlor and car- 
ried his name to the brewer. 

There were already two girls in the room. One was 
evidently a caller. The other, a girl with a sweet, kindly, 
German face, was obviously one of the “ nice "daughters. 
His arrival checked the flow of conversation somewhat, 
but they went on comparing their summer experiences. 
When the butler came back and said aloud, “Mr. Bohlmann 
will see you in the library, Mr. Stirling,” Peter noticed 
that both girls turned impulsively to look at him, and 
that the daughter flushed red. 

He found Mr. Bohlmann standing uneasily on the rug 
by the fireplace, and a stout woman gazing out of the 
window, with her back to the room. 

“I had a call from your lawyer this morning, Mr. 
Bohlmann,” said Peter, “and I have taken the liberty of 
coming to see you about the cases.” 

“Sid down, sid down, "said his host, nervously, though 
not sitting himself. 

Peter sat down. “ I want to do what is best about the 
matter,” he said. 

The woman turned quickly to look at him, and Peter 
saw that there were tears in her eyes. 

“Veil,” said the brewer, “what is dat?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Peter, “and that’s why Fve come 
to see you.” 

Mr. Bohlmann’s face worked for a moment. Then sud« 
denly he burst into tears. “I give you my word, Mr 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


T& 

Stirling/’ he said, “that I didn’t know it was so. I haven’t 
.had a happy moment since you spoke that day in court* 
He had heretofore spoken in English with a slight German 
accent. But this he said in German. He sat down at the 
table and buried his face in his arms. His wife, who was 
also weeping, crossed to him, and tried to comfort him by 
patting him on the backJ 

“ I think," said Peter, “ we had best drop the suits.” 

Mr. Bohlmann looked up. “It is not the money, Mr. 
Stirling," he said, still speaking in German. “See.” He 
drew from a drawer in his desk a check-book, and filling 
up a check, handed it to Peter. It was dated and signed, 
but the amount was left blank. “There," he said, “I 
leave it to you what is right." 

“I think Mr. Dummer will feel we have not treated 
him fairly,” said Peter, “if we settle it in this way." 

“ Do not think of him. I will see that he has no cause 
for complaint," the brewer said. “Only let me know 

it is ended, so that my wife and my daughters " he 

choked, and ended the sentence thus. 

“ Very well," said Peter. “ We’ll drop the suits." 

The husband and wife embraced each other in true 
German fashion. 

Peter rose and came to the table. “ Three of the cases 
were for five thousand each, and the other two were for 
two thousand each," he said, and then hesitated. He 
wished to be fair to both sides. “I will ask you to fill 
in the check for eight thousand dollars. That will be 
two each for three, and one each for two." 

Mr. Bohlmann disengaged himself from his wife, and 
took his pen. “You do not add your fee," he said. 

“I forgot it," laughed Peter, and the couple laughed 
with him in their happiness. ‘ ‘ Make it for eight thousand, 
two hundred and fifty. " 

“ Och," said the brewer once more resuming his 
English. “ Dat is too leedlefor vive cases." 

“No," said Peter. “It was what I had decided to 
charge in case I got any damages." 

So the check was filled in, and Peter, after a warn 
handshake from both, went back to his office. 

“ Dat iss a fine yoong mahn," said the brewer. 


A NEW FRIEND. 


77 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A NEW FRIEND. 

Thk day after this episode, Peter had the very unusual 
experience of a note by his morning's mail Except foi 
his mother's weekly letter, it was the first be had received 
since W atts had sailed, two years before. For the moment 
he thought that it must be from him, and the color came 
into his face at the mere thought that he would have news 
of — of — Watts. Rut a moment’s glance at the writing 
showed him he was wrong, and he tore the envelope with 
iittle interest in face. Indeed after he had opened it, 
he looked at hi* wall for a moment before he fixed his 
mind on it 

It contained a brief note, to this effect : 

“A recent trial indicates that Mr. Stirling needs neither praise not 
*tward as incenti' -es for the doing of noble deeds. 

u But one who prefers to remain unknown cannot restrain her grateful 
shanks to Mr. Stirling for what he did ; and being debarred from such 
Acts herself, *»ks that at least she may be permitted to aid him in them 
ioy enclosing a counsel fee for ‘ the case of the tenement children of 
New York against the inhumanity of men’s greed.* 

* September third.” 

Peter looked at the enclosure, and found it was a check 
for five hundred dollars. He laid it on his desk, and read 
the note over again. It was beyond question written by 
a lady. Every earmark showed that, from the delicate 
scent of the paper, to the fine, even handwriting. Peter 
wanted to know who she was. He looked at the check 
to see by whom it was signed ; to find that it was drawn 
by the cashier of the bank at which it was payable. 

Half an hour later, a rapid walk had brought him tc 
the bank the name of which was on the check. It was 
an uptown one, which made a specialty of family and 
women’s accounts. Peter asked for the cashier. 

“ I’ve called about this check," he said, when tha* 
official materialized, handing the slip of paper to him. 


fS THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“ Yes, " said the cashier kindly, though with a touch 
of the resigned sorrow in his voice which cashiers of 
“family’s” and women’s banks acquire. “You must 
sign your name on the back, on the left-hand end, and 
present it to the paying-teller, over at that window. 
You’ll have to be identified if the paying-teller doesn’t 
know you.” 

“ I don’t want the money,” said Peter. “ I want to 
know who sent the check to me ? ” 

The cashier looked at it more carefully. “ Oh ! ” h® 
said. Then he looked up quickly at Peter, with consider 
able interest. “Are you Mr. Stirling?" 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, I filled this up by order of the president, and 
you’ll have to see him about it, if you want more than 
the money.” 

“ Can I see him ? " 

“ Come this way." 

They went into a small office at the end of the 
bank. 

“ Mr. Dyer,” said the cashier, “ this is Mr. Stirling, 
and he’s come to see about that check." 

“ Glad to see you, Mr. Stirling. Sit down." 

“ I wish to learn who sent the check." 

“ Veiy sorry we can’t oblige you. We had positive 
instructions from the person for whom we drew it, that 
no name was to be given." 

“ Can you receive a letter ? ” 

“ That was forbidden too." 

“ A message?” 

“ Nothing was said about that” 

“ Then will you do me the favor to say to the lady 
that the check will not be cashed till Mr.. Stirling has been 
able to explain something to her.” 

“ Certainly. She can’t object to that” 

“ Thank you.” 

“ Not at all." The president rose and escorted him to 
the door. “ That was a splendid speech of yours, Mr. 
Stirling,” he added. “ I’m not a bit ashamed to say that 
it put salt water in my old eyes.” 

“ I think,” said Peter, “ it was the deaths of the poor 
little children, more than anything I said, that made people 
feel it." 


A NEW FRIEND. 


19 

The next morning’s mail brought Peter a second note, 
in the same handwriting as that of the day before. It 
read; 

“Miss De Voe has received Mr. Stirling’s message and will be pleased 
to see him in regard to the check, at half after eleven to-day (Wed* 
nesday) if he will call upon her. 

“ Miss De Voe regrets the necessity of giving Mr. Stirling such brief 
notice, but she leaves New York on Thursday.” 

As Peter walked up town that morning, he was a little* 
surprised that he was so cool over his intended calL In 
a few minutes he would be in the presence of a lady, the 
firmness of whose handwriting indicated that she was not 
yet decrepit Three years ago such a prospect would 
have been replete with terror to him. Down to that — that 
week at the Pierce’s, he had never gone to a place where 
he expected to “encounter” (for that was the word he 
formerly used) women without dread. Since that week — 
except for the twenty-four hours of the wedding, he had 
not “ encountered ” a lady. Yet here he was, going to 
meet an entire stranger without any conscious embarrass- 
ment or suffering. He was even in a sense curious. 
Peter was not given to self-analysis, but the change was 
too marked a one for him to be unconscious of it Was 
it merely the poise of added years ? Was it that he had 
ceased to care what women thought of him ? Or was it 
that his discovery that a girl was lovable had made the 
sex less terrible to him ? Such were the questions he 
asked himself as he walked, and he had not answered 
them when he rang the bell of the old-fashioned, double 
house on Second Avenue. 

He was shown into a large drawing-room, the fittings 
of which were still shrouded in summer coverings, prevent- 
ing Peter from inferring much, even if he had had time to 
do so. But the butler had scarcely left him when, with a 
well-bred promptness from which Peter might have drawn 
an inference, the rustle of a woman’s draperies was heard. 
Rising, Peter found himself facing a tall, rather slender 
woman of between thirty-five and forty. It did not need 
a second glance from even Peter’s untrained eye, to 
realize the suggestion of breeding in the whole atmos- 
phere about her. The gown was of the simplest summer 
material, but its very simplicity, and a certain lack of 
“latest fashion” rather than “old-fashionedness” gave it 


!§0 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 

a quality of respectability. Every line of the face, the se 
of the head, and even more the carriage of the figure, 
conveyed the “ look of race.” 

“I must thank you, Mr. Stirling,” she said, speaking 
deliberately, in a low, mellow voice, by no means so 
common then as our women’s imitation of the English 
tone and inflexion has since made it, “for suiting youi 
time to mine on such short notice. '* 

“You were very kind,” said Peter, “to comply witf 
my request. Any time was convenient to me ” 

“ I am glad it suited you.” 

Peter had expected to be asked to sit down, but, nothing 
being said, began his explanation. 

“I am very grateful, Miss De Voe, for your note, and 
for the check. I thank you for both. But I think you 
probably sent me the latter through a mistake, and so I 
did not feel justified in accepting it” 

“ A mistake?” 

“ Yes. The papers made many errors in their state- 
ments. I’m not a ‘poor young lawyer,’ as they said. 
My mother is comfortably off, and gives me an ample 
allowance. ” 

“Yes?” 

“And what is more, ” continued Peter, “while they 
were right in saying that I paid some of the expenses of 
the case, yet I was more than repaid by my fees in some 
civil suits I brought for the relatives of the children, which 
we settled very advantageously. " 

“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Stirling ? ” said Miss DeJVoe, 
“ I should like to hear about the cases. ” 

Peter began a very simple narrative of the matter. 
But Miss De Voe interjected questions or suppositions 
here and there, which led to oth 0 ’* explanations, and before 
Peter had finished, ne toid not merely the history of 
the cases, but much else. His mention of the two Dooley 
children had brought out the fact of their visit to his 
mother, and this had explained incidentally her position 
in the world. The settlement of the cases involved the 
story of the visit to the brewer’s home, and Peter, to 
justify his action, added his interview with his pastor. 
Peter’s connection with the case compelled him to 
speak of his evenings in the “angle,” and the solitary life 
that had sent him there. Afterwards, Peter was rather sur 


A NEW FRIEND . 


& 

prised at how much he had told. He did not realize than 
a woman with tact and experience can, without making it 
evident, lead a man to tell nearly anything and everything 
he knows, if she is so minded. If women ever really take 
to the bar seriously, may Providence protect the average 
being in trousers, when on the witness stand 1 

As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he 
rose. “I must ask your pardon,” he said. “I had no 
Sdea I had taken so much of your time, ” Then putting his 
hand in his pocket, he produced the check. “You see 
that I have made a very good thing out of the whole 
matter and do not need this.” 

“One moment, Mr. Stirling,” said the lady, still sitting. 
“Can you spare the time to lunch with me? We will sit 
down at once, and you shall be free to go whenever you 
wish. ” 

Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and 
it did not seem easy to refuse without giving an excuse, 
which he did not have. Yet he did not feel that he had 
the right to accept an invitation which he had perhaps 
necessitated by his long call. 

“ Thank you,” said his hostess, before he had been able 
to frame an answer. “ May I trouble you to pull that bell ? ” 

Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the 
check rather awkwardly to Miss De Voe. She, however, 
was looking towards a doorway, which the next moment 
was darkened by the butler. 

“ Morden,” she said, “you may serve luncheon at once.” 

“Luncheon is served, madam,” said Morden. 

Miss De Voe rose. “ Mr. Stirling, I do not think your 
explanation has really affected the circumstances which 
led me to send that check. You acknowledge yourself 
that you are the poorer for that prosecution, and 
received no fees for trying it. As I wrote you, I merely 
was giving a retaining fee in that case, and as none other 
has been given, I still wish to do it I cannot do such 
things myself, but I am weal — I — I can well afford to aid 
others to do them, and I hope you will let me have the 
Happiness of feeling that I have done my little in this 
matter,” 

“ Thank you, ” said Peter. “ I was quite willing to take 
die money, but I was afraid vou might have sent it unde* 
* misconception.” 


82 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Miss De Voe smiled at Peter with a very nice look in 
her face. “I am the one to say ‘thank you/ and I am 
most grateful. But we will consider that as ended, and 
discuss luncheon in its place.” 

Peter, despite his usual unconsciousness could not 
but notice the beauty of the table service. The meal 
itself was the simplest of summer luncheons, but the 
silver and china and glass were such as he had never 
seen before. 

“What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. 
Stirling? ” he was asked by his hostess. 

“ I don’t — none for me,” replied Peter. 

“You don’t approve of wine? ” asked his hostess. 

“ Personally I have no feeling about it.” 

“But?” And there was a very big question mark in 
Miss De Voe's voice. 

“ My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do 
not take it. It is really no deprivation to me, while it 
would mean great anxiety to her if I drank. ” 

This started the conversation on Peter’s mother and his 
early years, and before it had ended, his hostess had suc- 
ceeded in learning much more about his origin and 
his New York life. The clock finally cut him short again, 
for they lingered at the table long after the meal was 
finished, though Miss De Voe made the pretence of eating 
a grape occasionally. When three o’clock struck, Peter, 
without the least simulating any other cause for going, 
rose hastily. 

“ I have used up your whole afternoon,” he said, apolo- 
getically. 

“ I think,” smiled Miss De Voe, “ that we are equal cul- 
prits in that. I leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, 
but return to the city late in October, and if your work 
and inclination favor it, I hope you will come to see me 
again ? ” 

Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he 
looked at Miss De Voe, so obviously an aristocrat. 

“ I shall be happy to,” he said, “if, when you return, 
you will send me word that you wish to see me.” 

Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter 
hesitated. “I believe he is going to refuse ! ” she thought 
to herself, a sort of stunned amazement seizing her. She 
was scarcely less surprised at his reply. 


A NEW FRIEND. 83 

“I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling," 
she said, with a slight hauteur in her voice. 

“ I’m sorry for that/' said Peter quietly. 

Miss De Voe caught her breath again. ‘ ‘Good-after- 
noon/’ she said, holding out her hand. “ I shall hope to 
see you.” 

“Good-bye,” said Peter, and the next moment waa 
walking towards his office. 

Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. “Than 
was curious,” she thought, “I wonder if he intends to 
come ? ” 

The next evening she was dining with relatives in one 
of the fashionable summering places, and was telling 
them about her call “from Mr. Stirling, the lawyer who 
made that splendid speech.” 

“ I thought,” she said, “ when I received the message, 
that I was going to be buried under a bathos of thanks, 
or else have my gift declined with the expectation that 
I would gush over the disinterestedness of the refusal. 
Since I couldn’t well avoid seeing him, I was quite pre- 
pared to snub him, or to take back the money without a 
word. But he wasn’t a bit that kind of creature. He 
isn’t self-assured nor tonguey — rather the reverse. I 
liked him so, that I forced him to stay to luncheon, 
and made him tell me a good deal about himself, 
without his knowing I was doing so. He leads a very 
unusual life, without seeming conscious that he does, 
and he tells about it very well. Uses just the right word 
every time, so that you know exactly what he means, 
without taxing your own brain to fill up blanks. He has 
such a nice voice too. One that makes you certain of 
the absolute truth underneath. No. He isn’t good look- 
ing, though he has fine eyes, and hair. His face and 
figure are both too heavy. ” 

“ Is he a gentleman, cousin Anneke?” asked one of 
the party. 

“ He is a little awkward, and over-blunt at moments, 
but nothing to which one would give a second thought. 

I was so pleased with him that I asked him to call on me.” 

“It seems to me,” said another, “that you are over- 
paying him.” 

“That was the most curious part,” replied Miss De 
Voe. “I’m not at all sure that he means to come. If 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


u 

was really refreshing not to be truckled to, but it h 
rather startling to meet the first man who does not want 
to win his way to my visiting list. I don’t think he even 
knows who Miss De Voe is.” 

“He will find out quick enough,” laughed a girl, “ and 
then he will do what they all do.” 

“No,” said Miss De Voe. “I suspect it will make no 
difference. He isn’t that kind, I think. I really am 
curious to see if I have to ask him a second time. It will 
be the only case I can remember. I’m afraid, my dears, 
your cousin is getting to be an old woman.” 

Peter, had in truth, met, and spent over four hours in 
the company of a woman whom every one wished to know. 
A woman equally famous for her lineage, her social 
position, her wealth and her philanthropy. It would not 
have made any difference, probably, had he known it, 
though it might have increased his awkwardness a little. 
That he was not quite as unconscious as Miss De Voe 
seemed to think, is shown by a passage in a letter he wrote 
to his mother : 

“ She was very much interested in the case, and asked a good many 
questions about it, and about myself. Some which I would rather not 
have answered, but since she asked them I could not bring myself to 
dodge them. She asked me to come and see her again. It is probably 
nothing but a passing interest, such as this class feel for the moment.” — • 
[Then Peter carefully inked out “such as this class feel for the 
moment,” and reproved himself that his bitterness at — at — at one ex- 
perience, should make him condemn a whole class] — “but if she asks 
me again I shall go, for there is something very sweet and noble about 
her. I think she is probably some great personage.” 

Later on in the letter he wrote : 

“ If you do not disapprove, I will put this money in the savings 
bank, in a special or trustee account, and use it for any good that I can 
do for the people about here. I gave the case my service, and do not 
Slink I am entitled to take pay when the money can be so much bettei 
employed for the benefit of the people I tried to help.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ANOTHER CLIENT. 

Peter had seen his clients on the morning following the 
settlement of the cases, and told them of their good fortune. 
They each had a look at Bohlmann's check, and then were 
asked how they would like their shares. 


ANOTHER CLIENT 8 $ 

** Sure, - * said Dooley, “ Oi shan’t know what to d<& 
wid that much money.” 

“I think,” said Peter, “that your two thousand really 
belongs to the children.” 

“That it does,” said Mrs. Dooley, quite willing to 
deprive her husband of it, for the benefit of her chil* 
dren. 

“ But what shall Oi do wid it? ” asked Mr. Dooley. 

“ I’d like Mr. Stirling to take charge of mine,” sate 
Blackett. 

“That’s the idea,” said Dooley. 

And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing 
would be to put it in the savings bank. “ Perhaps later 
we’ll find something better.” They all went around to 
a well-known institution on the Bowery, and Peter inter- 
viewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over 
the check to the bank, and credit the proper share to each. 

“I shall have to ask you to give me the odd two 
hundred and fifty,” Peter said, “ as that is my legal fee.” 

“You had better let me put that in your name, Mr. 
Stirling ? ” said the president, who had been called into the 
consultation. 

“Very well,” said Peter. “I shall want some of it 
before long, but the rest will be very well off here. ” So 
a book was handed him, and the president shook him by 
the hand with all the warmth that eight thousand two 
hundred and fifty dollars of increased assets and four new 
depositors implied. 

Peter did not need to draw any of the two hundred and 
fifty dollars, however. In November he had another knock 
at his door. 

It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we havfr 
incidentally spoken in connection with the half-pric* 
drinks for the Milligan wake, and as spokesman of ths 
torchlight procession. 

“ Good-mornin’ to yez, sir,” said the visitor. 

It was a peculiarity of Peter's that he never forgot faces. 
He did not know Mr. Moriarty’s name, never having had 
ft given him, but he placed him instantly. 

“Thank you,” said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter 
Hid not usually shake hands in meeting people, but he 
liked the man’s face. It would never take a prize for 
beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose was a 


%6 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

real sky-scraper and the upper lip was almost probo3 

cidian in its length. But every one liked the face. 

“It's proud Oi’m bein' shakin’ the hand av Misthet 
Stirling, said the Irishman. 

“Sit down,” said Peter. 

“My name's Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an* Oi 
teeps a saloon near Centre Street, beyant.” 

“ Tou were round here in the procession.” 

Oi was, sir. Shure, Oi’m not much at a speech, 
;ompared to the likes av yez, but the b’ys would have me 
do it” 

Peter said something appropriate, and then there was 
a pause. 

“ Misther Stirling,” finally said Moriarty, “Oi was up 
Defore Justice Gallagher yesterday, an’ he fined me bad. 
Oi want yez to go to him, an’ get him to be easier wid me. 
It’s yezself can do it. ” 

“ Wtmt were you fined for ? ” asked Peter. 

“ Frr bein’ open on Sunday.” 

“Then you ought to be fined.” 

*' Oon’t say that till Oi tell yez. Oi don’t want to keep 
my place open, but it’s in my lease, an’ so Oi have to.” 

“ In your lease ? ” enquired Peter. 

s Yes.” And the paper was handed over to him. 

Peter ran over the three documents. “ I see,” he said, 
'‘you are only the caretaker really, the brewer having an 
nsignment of the lease and a chattel mortgage on your 
fixtures and stock. ” 

“That’s it,” said Dennis. “It’s mighty quick yez got 
at it. It’s caretaker Oi am, an’ a divil of a care it is. 
Shure, who wants to work seven days a week, if he can 
do wid six ? ” 

“You should have declined to agree to that condition?” 

“ Then Oi’d have been turned out. Begobs, it’s such 
$oor beer that it’s little enough Oi sell even in seven 
days. ” 

“ Why don’t you get your beer elsewhere then ? ” 

“Why, it’s Edelhein put me in there to sell his stut£ 
an he’d never let me sell anythin’ else.” 

“Then Edelhein is really the principal, and you ar* 
only put to Keep him out of sight ? ” 

“That's it.” 

“ And you have put no money in yourself? ” 


ANOTHER CLIENT 


*7 


“Divil a cent* 

“Then why doesn’t he pay the fine ? ” 

“ He says Oi have no business to be afther bein' fined. 
As if any one sellin' his beer could help bein' fined ! " 

** How is that ? ” said Peter, inferring that selling poo* 
beer was a finable offence, yet ignorant of the statute. 

“Why yez see, sir, the b’ys don’t like that beer — an 
sensible they are — so they go to other places, an' don’t 
come to my place." 

“ But that doesn’t explain your fines." 

“ Av course it does. Shure, if the boys don't come to 
my place, it’s little Oi can do at the primary, an’ so it’s 
no pull Oi have in politics, to get the perlice an’ the 
joodges to be easy wid me, like they are to the rest" 

Peter studied his blank wall a bit. 

“Shure, if it’s good beer Oi had,’’ continued Moriarty, 
“Oi’d be afther beatin’ them all, for Oi was always 
popular wid the b’ys, on account of my usin’ my fists 
so fine.” 

Peter smiled. “Why don’t you go into something 
else ? ” he asked. 

“ Well, there’s mother and the three childers to be 
supported, an’ then Oi’d lose my influence at the primary.” 

“ What kind of beer does Mr. Bohlmann make ? ” asked 
Peter, somewhat irrelevantly. 

“Ah,” said Moriarty, “that’s the fine honest beer 1 
There’s never anythin’ wrong wid his. An’ he treats his 
keepers fair. Lets them do as they want about keepin’ 
open Sundays, an’ never squeezes a man when he's down 
on his luck." 

Peter looked at his wall again. Peter was learning 
something. 

“ Supposing,” he asked, “I was able to get your fine 
remitted, and that clause struck out of the lease. Would 
you open on Sunday ? ” 

“ Divil a bit.” 

44 Wnen must you pay the fine ? ” 

44 Oi’m out on bail till to-morrow, sir. ” 

“ Then leave these papers with me, and come in about 
this time.” 

Peter studied his wall for a bit after his new client 
was gone. He did not like either saloon-keepers or law- 
breakers, but this case seemed to him to have — to have 


88 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


— extenuating circumstances. His cogitations finally 
resulted in his going to Justice Gallagher’s court He 
found the judge rather curt. 

“He’s been up here three times in as many months, 
and I intend to make an example of him.” 

“But why is only he arrested, when every saloon 
keeper in the neighborhood does the same thing ? ” 

“Now, sir,” said the judge, “ don’t waste any more of 
my time. What’s the next case? ” 

A look we have mentioned once or twice came into 
Peter’s face. He started to leave the court, but en- 
countered at the door one of the policemen whom he 
was “friends with,” according to the children, which 
meant that they had chatted sometimes in the “ angle.” 

“ What sort of a man is Dennis Moriarty ? ” he asked of 
him. 

“ A fine young fellow, supporting his mother and his 
younger brothers.” 

“ Why is Justice Gallagher so down on him ? ” 

The policeman looked about a moment. “ It’s politics, 
sir, and he’s had orders.” 

“From whom? ” 

“That’s more than we know. There was a row last 
spring in the primary, and we’ve had orders since then to 
lay for him.” 

Peter stood and thought for a moment. “What saloon- 
keeper round here has the biggest pull ? ” he asked. 

“It’s all of them, mostly, but Blunkers is a big man.” 

“Thank you,” said Peter. He stood in the street think- 
ing a little. Then he walked a couple of blocks and 
went into Blunkers’s great gin palace. 

“I want to see the proprietor,” he said. 

“Dat’s me,” said a man who was reading a paper be- 
hind the bar. 

“ Do you know Justice Gallagher ? ” 

“Do I? Well, I guess,” said the man. 

“Will you do me the favor to go with me to his court, 
and get him to remit Dennis Moriarty’s fine ? ” 

“Willi? No. I will not. Der’s too many saloons, 
and one less will be bully.” 

“In that case,” said Peter quietly, “I suppose yov 
won’t mind my closing yours up ? ” 

“Wot der yer mean ? ” angrily inquired the man. 


ANOTHER CLIENT 89 

“ If it comes to closing saloons, two can play at that 
game/* „ 

“Who is yer, anyway?” The man came out from 
behind the bar, squaring his shoulders in an ugly manner. 

“ My name’s Stirling. Peter Stirling.” 

The man looked at him with interest. “How’ll yer 
close my place ? ” 

“ Get evidence against you, and prosecute you.” 

“Dat ain’t de way.” 

“ It will be my way.” 

“ Wot yer got against me ?” 

“Nothing. But I intend to see Moriarty have fail 
play. You want to fight on the square too. You’re not 
a man to hit a fellow in the dark.” 

Peter was not flattering the man. He had measured 
him and was telling him the result of that measure. He 
told it, too, in a way that made the other man realize the 
opinion behind the words. 

“Come on,” said Blunkers, good-naturedly. 

They went over to the court, and a whispered colloquy 
took place between the justice and the bartender. 

“That’s all right, Mr. Stirling,” presently said the 
judge. “Clerk, strike Dennis Moriarty’s fine off the 
list.” 

“Thank you,” said Peter to the saloon-keeper. “If I 
can ever do a turn for you, let me know it.” 

“ Dat’s hunky,” said the man, and they parted. 

Peter went out and walked into the region of the 
National Milk Company, but this time he went to the 
brewery. He found Mr. Bohlmann, and told him the 
story, asking his advice at the end. 

“ Dondt you vool von minute mit dod Edelheim. I 
dells you vot I do. I harf choost a blace vacant down in 
Zender Streed, and your frient he shall it haf.” 

So they chatted till all the details had been arranged. 
Dennis was to go in as caretaker, bound to use only 
Bohlmann’s beer, with a percentage on that, and the 
profits on all else. He was to pay the rent, receiving a 
sub-lease from Bohlmann, who was only a lesee himself, 
and to give a chattel mortgage on the stock supplied him. 
Finally he was to have the right of redemption of stock, 
lease, and good-will at any time within five years, on 
making certain payments. 


<p 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


•You draw up der babers, Misder Stirling*, and send 
der bill to me. Ve vill give der yoonger a chance,” the 
brewer said. 

When Dennis called the next day, he was “spache- 
less ” at the new developments. He wrung Peter’s hand. 

“Arrah, what can Oi say to yez ? ” he exclaimed 
finally. Then having found something, he quickly con- 
tinued : “Now, Patsy Blunkers, lookout for yezself. It’s 
the divil Oi’ll give yez in the primary this year.” 

He begged Peter to come down the opening night, and 
help to “celebrate the event.” 

“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I don’t think I will.” 

“Shure,” said Dennis, “yez needn’t be afraid it won’t 
be orderly. It’s myself can do the hittin’, an’ the b’ys 
know it.” 

“ My mother brought me up,” Peter explained, “ not to 
go into saloons, and when I came to New York I prom- 
ised her, if I ever did anything she had taught me not to, 
that I would write her about it. She would hardly under- 
stand this visit, and it might make her very unhappy.” 

Peter earned fifty dollars by drawing the papers, and at 
the end of the first month Dennis brought him fifty more. 

“Trade’s been fine, sir, an’ Oi want to pay somethin’ 
for what yez did. ” 

So Peter left his two hundred and fifty dollars in the 
bank, having recouped the expenses of the first case 
out of his new client. 

He wrote all about it to his mother : 

u I am afraid you won’t approve of what I did entirely, for I know 
your strong feeling against men who make and sell liquor. But I some- 
now have been made to feel in the last few days that more can be done 
in the world by kindness and help than by frowns and prosecutions. I 
had no thought of getting money out of the case, so I am sure I was not 
influenced by that. It seemed to me that a man was being unfairly 
treated, and that too, by laws which are meant for other purposes. I 
really tried to think it out, and do what seemed right to me. My last 
client has a look and a way of speaking that makes me certain he’s a 
fine fellow, and I shall try to see something of him, provided it will not 
worry you to think of me as friendly with a saloon-keeper. I know I 
can be of use to him.” 

Little did Peter know how useful his last client would 
be to him. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE PRIMARY. 

After this rush of work, Peter’s life became as routine 
as of yore. The winter passed without an event worth 
noting, if we except a steadily growing acquaintance 
with the dwellers of the district But in July a new phase 
was injected into it by a call from Dennis Moriarty. 

“ Good-mornin’ to yez, sir, an’ a fine day it is," said 
the latter, with his usually breezy way. 

“Yes,” said Peter. 

“Misther Stirling. An’ is it engaged yez are for this 
night ? ” 

4 ‘ No. ” Peter had nothing. 

“Then,” said Dennis, “maybe ye’ll be afther goin' 
wid me to the primary ? ” 

“What primary?” 

“ For the election of delegates to the convention, shure.” 

“ No. What party ? ” 

“What party is it ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Misther Stirling, do yez know my name?" 

“Dennis Moriarty, isn’t it?” 

“ Yes. An’ what’s my business ? ” 

“You keep a saloon.” 

“ Yes. An’ what ward do Oi live in ? ” 

“The sixth, don’t you? ” 

“Then,” said Dennis, his upper lip twisting into a smile 
of enormous proportions, “ Oi suppose yez afther thinkin’ 
Oi’m a dirty black Republican.” 

Peter laughed, as few could help doing, when Dennis 
led the way. “Look here, Dennis,” he said, “don’t 
you run down that party. My father was a Democrat, 
but he voted for Lincoln, and fought for the blacks when 
the time came, and though I’m a Democrat like him, the 
Republicans are only black in their sympathies, and not 
in their acts.” 

“An’ what do yez say to the whisky frauds, an' black 
Friday, an’ credit mobilier ? ” asked Dennis. 


43 THE HONORABLE PETER STIR La NO 

“Of course I don’t like them,” said Peter ; “ bul that'8 
the politicians, not the party.” 

“Shure,” said Dennis, “ what’s the party but the men 
that run it ? ” 

“You’ve seen something of Mr. Bohlmann lately, Den- 
nis?” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, he was the man who put Coldman in charge of 
that cow stable. Yet he’s an honest man.” 

Dennis scratched his head. “ It’s a convincin’ way yez 
have wid yez,” he said; “but it’s scoundrels the Republi- 
cans are, all the same. Look at them in the district ; 
there’s not one a decent man would invite to drink wid 
him.” 

“ I think, Dennis,” said Peter, “that when all the de- 
cent men get into one party, there’ll be only one worth 
talking about.” 

“Av course,” replied Dennis. “That’s the reason 
there’s only the Democratic party in New York City.” 

“Tell me about this primary,” said Peter, concluding 
that abstract political philosophy was not the way to lib- 
eralize Dennis. 

“It’s most important, it is,” he was told, “it’s on top 
Patsy Blunkers an' his gang av dirty spalpeens (Dennis 
seemed to forget that he had just expressed the opinion 
that all the “decent” men were Democrats) have been 
this two years, but we’ve got orders for a new enrollment 
at last, an' if we don’t knock them this time, my name 
isn’t Dinnis Moriarty.” 

“What is the question before the meeting ? ” 

“ Afther the enrollment, it’s to vote for delegates.” 

“Oh l Then it’s just a struggle over who shall be 
elected ? ” 

“That’s it. But a fine, big fight it will be. The whole 
district’s so excited, sir, that it’s twice Oi’ve had to pound 
the b’ys a bit in my saloon to keep the peace.” 

“What do you want of me ? ” 

“Shure, every vote counts on a night like this. An* 
ye’d be afther helpin’ us big, for the district likes yez.” 

“But, Dennis, I can’t vote without knowing something 
about the way things are. I shouldn’t know whether I 
was voting rightly.” 

“Why, a man votes right when he votes for hia 

friends! ” 


THE PRIMARY , 


93 

“No ; a man votes right when he votes for his convic- 
tions.” 

“ Convictions, is it ? ” 

“Yes. That is, he votes as he thinks is best for the 
country. ” 

“That,, maybe, is the way yez do it where yez come 
from,” said Dennis, “but it’s no good it would be here. 
Convictions, whatever they be, are never nominated here. 
It’s real things we're afther votin’ for in New York.” 

Peter laughed. “ I've got to take you in hand, Dennis, 
and you’ve got to take me in hand. I think we both need 
each other’s help. Yes, I’ll come to the primary. Will 
they let me vote ? ” 

“The dirty spalpeens will never dare to stop yezl 
Thank yez, sir. Oi’ll be along for yez about eight.” 

“Remember, though, Dennis — I don’t say how I’ll 
vote. ” 

“Yez just listen, an’ Oi’m not afraid av what ye’ll do.” 

That evening, Peter was ushered into a large hot 
room, pretty well packed with men, and the interstices 
already filled in with dense tobacco smoke. He looked 
about him curiously, and was surprised to find how many 
of the faces he knew. Blackett, Dooley, and Milligan 
were there, and shook hands with him warmly. Judge 
Gallagher and Blunkers were in evidence. In plain clothes 
were two policemen, and three of the “fire-laddies,” who 
formed part of the “ crew ” of the nearest engine, with all 
of whom he had often chatted. Mr. Dummer, his rival 
lawyer in the case, ancl one of the jurymen in it, likewise 
were visible. Also many faces which were familiar 
to Peter by a former occasional friendly word or nod 
exchanged in passing. Intense excitement evidently 
leigned, and every one was whispering in a sort of breath- 
less way, which showed how deeply interested they were. 

At Dennis’s suggestion, made in walking to the room, 
Peter presented himself without guidance, at the desk. 
Some one behind him asked if he lived in the ward, and 
for how long, but this was the only apparent opposition 
made to the prompt entering of his name. Then Peter 
Strolled round and talked to those whom he knew, and 
tried to find out, without much success, just what was the 
division. Every one knew that a fight was on, but in just 
what it consisted they seemed neither to know nor cara 


94 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


He noticed that hot words were constantly exchanged af 
the enrolling desk, over would-be members, but not un- 
derstanding the exact nature of the qualifications needed, 
he could not follow the disputes. Finally these ceased, 
for want of applicants. 

“Misther Stirling,” said Dennis, coming up to him hur 
riedly. “ Will yez be afther bein' chairman for us ? ” 

“No. I don’t know anything about the proceedings.’ 

“ It don’t take any,” said Dennis. “ It’s only fair play 
we’re afther.” 

He was gone again before Peter could say anything. 
The next instant, the enrolling officer rose and spoke. 

“Are there any more to be enrolled ? ” he called. No 
one came forward, so after a moment he said: “Will 
the meeting choose a presiding officer ? ” 

“ Mr. Chairman,” rang two voices so quickly that they 
in truth cut the presiding officer off in his suggestion. 

“Mr. Muldoon,” said that officer. 

“Oi spoke first,” shouted Dennis, and Peter felt that he 
had, and that he was not having fair play. 

Instantly a wave of protest, denials, charges, and 
counter-charges swept through the room. Peter thought 
there was going to be a fight, but the position was too 
critical to waste a moment on what Dennis styled “a 
diversion.” It was business, not pleasure, just then. 

“ Mr. Muldoon,” said the officer again, not heeding the 
tempest in the least. 

“Mr. Chairman,” shouted Muldoon, “I am proud to 
nominate Justice Gallagher, the pride of the bar, for chair- 
man of this distinguished meeting, and I move to make 
his election unanimous.” 

“ Misther Chairman,” shouted Dennis. 

“ Mr. Moriarty,” said the officer. 

“ Misther Chairman, Oi have the honor to nominate fo*j 
chairman av this meetin’ the people’s an' the children’? 
friend, Misther Peter Stirling, an’ Oi don’t have to move tc 
make it unanimous, for such is the intelligince an’ mam 
hood av this meetin’ that it will be that way for shure.” 

Peter saw a hurried consultation going on between Gal- 
lagher, Muldoon, and two others, during the latter part of 
this speech, and barely had Dennis finished his remarks*, 
when Justice Gallagher spoke up. 

“Mr. Chairman.” 


THE PRIMARY, 


95 

“The Honorable Justice Gallagher,*' said that gentle- 
man. 

“I take pride in withdrawing in favor of Mr. Stirling, 
who so justly merits the honor of presiding on this impor- 
tant occasion. From recent events too well known to 
need mention, I am sure we can all look to him for jus- 
tice and fairness.** 

“Bad cess to him!” groaned Dennis. “ Oi hoped 
they’d be just fools enough to oppose yez, an* then we’d 
have won the first blood. ” 

Peter was chosen without dissent, and was escorted to 
the seat behind the desk. 

“What is the first business before the meeting?” he 
asked of Gallagher, aside, as he was taking his seat. 

“ Election of delegates to the State convention. That’s 
all to-night,” he was told. 

Peter had presided at college in debates, and was not 
flurried. “Will you stay here so as to give me the names 
of those I don’t know ? ” he said to the enrolling officer. 
“The meeting will please come to order,” he continued 
aloud. “The nomination of delegates to the State 
convention is the business to be acted upon.” 

“ MistherChairman,” yelled Dennis, evidently expecting 
to find another rival as before. But no one spoke. 

“Mr. Moriarty,” said Peter. 

“ Misther Chairman. It’s my delight to nominate as 
delegates to the State convention, the Honorable Misthei 
Schlurger, our distinguished representative in the Assem- 
bly, the Honorable Misther Kennedy, our noble Police- 
commissioner, an’ Misther Caggs, whom it would be insult 
for me to praise in this company.” 

“Second the motion,” said some one. 

“ Mr. Chairman,” shouted a man. 

‘That’s Caggs,” said the enrolling officer. 

“ Mr. Caggs,” said Peter. 

“Mr. Chairman,” said Caggs. “I must decline the 
honor offered me from such a source.” 

“ What ?” shrieked Dennis, amazement and rage con- 
testing for first place in voice and expression. 

“ Mr. Chairman,” said Dummer. 

“Mr. Dummer,” said Peter. 

“I have the honor to nominate the Honorable Justice 
Gallagher, Mr. Peter Sweeney, and Mr. Caggs, to whom 


90 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

Mr. Moriarty has just paid so glowing a tribute, as dele 
gates to the State convention.” 

“ Second the ” shouted some one, but the rest was 

drowned by another storm which swept through the room. 
Even above the tumult, Peter could hear Dennis challeng- 
ing and beseeching Mr. Caggs to come “ outside an’ settle it 
like gentlemen. ” Caggs, from a secure retreat behind Blun- 
kers’s right arm, declined to let the siren’s song tempt him 
forth. Finally Peter’s pounding brought a degree of quiet 
again. 

“Misther Chairman,” said Dennis. 

“Mr. Moriarty, ” said Peter. 

“ Misther Chairman. Oi’ll not take the valuable time 
av this meetin’ to speak av dirty, cowardly, black-hearted, 
treacherous snakes, wid souls blacker than the divil’s 
own ” 

“Order ! ” said Peter to the crowd. 

“No,” continued Dennis, in answer to the audible re- 
marks of the opposition. “ It’s no names Oi’m callin’. If 
yez know such a beast, such a snake, fit it to him. Oi’m 
mentionin’ no names. As Oi was sayin’, Misther Chair- 
man, Oi’ll not waste the time av this meetin’ wid dis- 
cribin’ the conduct av a beast so vile that he must be 
the contempt av every honest man. Who would have 
been driven out by St. Patrick, wid the rest av the rep- 
tiles, if he’d lived at that time. Oi only rise to widdraw 
the name av Caggs from the list Oi nominated for 
delegates to the state convention, an’ to put in place av it 
that av a man who is as noble an’ true, as some are false 
an’ divilish. That of Misther Peter Stirling, God bless 
him ! ” 

Once more chaos came. Peter pounded in vain. Both 
sides were at fever heat. Finally Peter rose. 

“Gentlemen,” he shouted, in a voice that rang through 
the hall above even the tumult, “if this meeting does 
not come to order, I shall declare it adjourned.” 

Instant quiet fell, for all had paused a moment to hear 
his words, and they concluded that he was in earnest. 

“Was the last motion seconded ? ” asked the chairman 
calmly. 

“ I seconded it,” shouted Blackett and Milligan together. 

“You have heard the nominations, gentlemen. Has 
any one any remarks to make ? ” 


yr POLITICAL DHBVT. 


97 

A man next Justice Gallagher said, “ Mr. Chairman,” and 
being duly recognized, proceeded to talk for ten minutes 
in a very useless way. But during this time, Peter 
noticed first a good deal of whispering among Blunkers’s 
friends, and then an interview between Gallagher and 
Dennis. The latter was apparently not reconcilable, and 
shook his head in a way that meant war. Then there 
was more consultation between the opposition, and 
another confab with Dennis, with more headshakes on 
his part. Finally a compromise having been evidently 
made impossible, the orator was “called down” and it 
was voted to proceed to an election. Peter named one 
of the firemen, Dooley, and Blunkers, tellers, who, after a 
ballot, announced that Dennis had carried his nominations, 
Peter heading the list with two hundred and twelve votes, 
and the others getting one hundred and seventy-two, and 
one hundred and fifty-eight respectively. The “snake” 
got but fifty-seven votes. 

“Shure,” said Dennis, later, “maybe we don’t vote for 
convictions here, but we don’t vote for the likes av him 1 ” 

“Then you are voting for convictions,” said Peter. 

“ It’s yezself is the convictions then,” said Dennis. 

Perhaps he was right. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A POLITICAL DEBUT. 

Peter declared the meeting adjourned as soon as 
the results of the election had been read, and slipped 
away in the turmoil that immediately followed, without 
a word to any one. He was in truth not bewildered — * 
because he had too much natural poise and phlegm — but 
he was surprised by the suddenness of it all, and wanted 
to think before talking with others. So he took advantage 
of the mutual bickerings and recriminations which seemed 
the order of the day, to get back to his office, and there 
he sat, studying his wall for a time. Then he went to 
bed, and slept as quickly and as calmly as if he had spent 
his evening in reading the “Modern Cottage Architecture ” 
or “Questions de Sociologie,” which were on his tables 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


98 

instead of presiding at a red-hot primary, and being 
elected a delegate. 

The next morning Dennis came to see him as early as 
well could be. 

“Misther Stirling,” he said, his face expanding into the 
broadest of grins, “ let me salute the delegate to the 
State convention.” 

“ Look here, Dennis,” said Peter, “you know you had 
no business to spring that on me.” 

“Ah, sir ! Shure, when that dirty little spalpeen av a 
Caggs went back on us so, W’hat could Oi do ? Oi know 
it's speak to yez Oi ought, but wid de room yellin’ like 
that it’s divilish tryin’ to do the right thing quick, barrin’ 
it’s not hittin' some one’s head, which always comes nat- 
ural.” 

“Well,” said Peter, “ of course I’m very much pleased 
to have been chosen, but I wish it could have been done 
with less hard feeling. ” 

“ Hard feelin/ is it ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Shure, the b’ys are as pleased an’ kindly this mornin* 
as can be. It’s a fight like that makes them yieldin’ an’ 
friendly. Nothin’ but a little head-punchin’ could make 
them in a sweeter mood, an’ we’d a given them that if 
little Caggs had had any sense in him.” 

“You mean Gallagher and Blunkers and the rest of 
them?” 

“ Av course. That little time last night didn’t mean 
much. No one feels bad over that. Shure, it’s Gallagher 
was in my place later last night, an’ we had a most friendly 
time, he treatin’ the whole crowd twice. We’ve got to 
fight in the primary to keep the b’ys interested, but it’s 
seldom that they’re not just as friendly the next day.” 

Peter looked at his wall. He had not liked Gallagher 
at either time he had met him. “Still,” he thought to 
himself, “I have no right to prevent him and Dennis 
being friends, from the little I’ve seen. ” 

“Now, sir, about the convention ?” said Dennis. 

“ I suppose Porter is the best man talked of for the 
nomination, ’’remarked Peter. 

“Begobs, sir, that he’s not,” said Dennis. “It’s Jus* 
tice Gallagher was tellin’ me himself that he was a poof 
kind av creature, wid a strong objection to saloons.” 


A POLITICAL DEBUT. 


99 

Peter's eye lost its last suggestion of doubt. “Oh, 
Justice Gallagher told you that? ” he asked. “When?" 

“Last night.” 

“ After the primary ? ” 

“Av course.” 

“ Whom does he favor? ” 

“Catlin.” 

“Well, Dennis, you’ve made me a delegate, but I've 
got to vote my own way.” 

“Shure, sir, Oi’d not have yez do anythin’ else. It’s 
yezself knows better than me. Oi was only tellin’ yez 
what the Justice ” 

A knock at the door interrupted him. It proved to be 
Gallagher, who greeted them both in a hearty, friendly 
way. Peter brought another chair from his bedroom. 

“Well, Mr. Stirling, that was a fine contest we had 
jast night,” said his honor. 

“It seemed to be earnest,” said Peter. 

“ Itis just as well our friend here sprang your nomi- 
nation on us as a surprise, for if we had known, we should 
not have put up an opposition candidate. You are just 
the sort of a man we want to represent us in the conven- 
tion.” 

“I have never met my colleagues, ’’said Peter. “ What 
kind of men are they ? ” 

So he got Gallagher’s opinion, and Dennis’s opinion. 
Then he wanted to know about the candidates, asking 
questions about them at considerable length. The inten- 
tions of the other city delegates were next introduced. 
Finally the probable planks of the platform were brought 
up. While they were still under discussion Gallagher 
said the sitting of his court compelled him to leave. 

“I’ll come in some time when I have more to spare.” 

Gallagher went to his court, and found a man waiting 
for him there. 

“He’s either very simple or very deep,” said Gallagher. 
“He did nothing but ask questions; and try my best 
I could not get him to show his hand, nor commit himself. 
It will be bad if there’s a split in a solid delegation I ” 

“ I hope it will be a lesson to you to have things better 
arranged. ” 

“ Blunkers would have it that way, and he’s not the 
kind of man to offend. We all thought he would win/ 


IOO 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“Oh, let them have their fights,” said the man crossly * 
“ but it’s your business to see that the right men are put 
up, so that it doesn’t make any difference which side wins.” 

“ Well,” said Gallagher, “ I’ve done all I could to put 
things straight. I’ve made peace, and got Moriarty on 
our side, and I’ve talked to this Stirling, and made out a 
strong case for Catlin, without seeming to care which man 
gets the nomination.” 

“ Is there any way of putting pressure on him ? ” 

“ Not that I can find out. He’s a young lawyer, who 
has no business.” 

“ Then he’s a man we don’t need to conciliate, if he 
won’t behave ? ” 

“No. I can’t say that. He’s made himself very popu- 
lar round here by that case and by being friendly to peo- 
ple. I don’t think, if he’s going into politics, that it will 
do to fight him. ” 

“ He’s such a green hand that we ought to be able to 
down him.” 

“ He’s new, but he’s a pretty cool, knowing chap, I 
think. I had one experience with him, which showed me 
that any man who picked him up for a fool would drop 
him quick.” Then he told how Dennis’s fine had been 
remitted. 

In the next few weeks Peter met a good many men who 
wanted to talk politics with him. Gallagher brought 
some ; Dennis others ; his fellow-ward delegates, more. 
But Peter could not be induced to commit himself. He 
would talk candidates and principles endlessly, but with- 
out expressing his own mind. Twice he was asked point 
blank, “Who’s your man?” but he promptly answered 
that he had not yet decided. He had always read a 
Democratic paper, but now he read two, and a Republi- 
can organ as well. His other reading lessened markedly, 
and the time gained was spent in talking with men in the 
“ district.” He even went into the saloons and listened 
to the discussions. 

“ I don’t drink,” he had to explain several times, “ be- 
cause my mother doesn’t like it.” For some reason this 
explanation seemed to be perfectly satisfactory. One man 
alone sneered at him. “Does she feed yer still on milk, 
sonny ?” he asked. “No,” said Peter, “but everything 
I have comes from her, and that’s the kind of a mother a 


A POLITICAL DEBUT 


lot 


fellow wants to please ; don't you think so ? ” The 
sneerer hesitated, and finally said he “guessed it was.” 
So Peter was made one of them, and smoked and listened. 
He said very little, but that little was sound, good 
sense, and, if he did not talk, he made others do so ; and, 
after the men had argued over something, they often 
looked at Peter, rather than at their opponents, to see if he 
seemed to approve of their opinions. 

“ It’s a fine way he has wid the b’ys,” Dennis told his 
mother. “ He makes them feel that he’s just the likes av 
them, an' that he wants their minds an’ opinions to help 
him. Shure, they’d rather smoke one pipe av his tobaccy 
than drink ten times at Gallagher’s expense.” 

After Peter had listened carefully and lengthily, he 
wrote to “ The Honorable Lemuel Porter, Hudson, N. 
Y. , ” asking him if he could give him an hour’s talk some 
day. The reply was prompt, and told Peter that Porter 
would be glad to see him any time that should suit his 
convenience. So Peter took a day off and ran up to 
Hudson. 

“ I am trying to find out for whom I should vote,” he 
explained to Porter. “ I’m a new man at this sort of thing, 
and, not having met any of the men talked of, I preferred 
to see them before going to the convention.” 

Porter found that Peter had taken the trouble to go over 
a back file of papers, and read some of his speeches. 

“ Of course,” Peter explained, “I want, as far as pos- 
sible, to know what you think of questions likely to be 
matters for legislation.” 

“ The difficulty in doing that, Mr. Stirling,” he was 
told, “ is that every nominee is bound to surrender his 
opinions in a certain degree to the party platform, while 
other opinions have to be modified to new conditions.” 

“ I can see that,” said Peter. “ I do not for a moment 
expect that what you say to-day is in any sense a 
pledge. If a man’s honest, the poorest thing we can do 
to him is to tie him fast to one course of action, when the 
conditions are constantly changing. But, of course, you 
have opinions for the present state of things ? ” 

Something in Peter’s explanation or face pleased Mr. 
Porter. He demurred no more, and, for an hour before 
lunch, and during that meal, he talked with the utmost 
freedom. 


102 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“ I’m not easily fooled on men,” he told his secretary 
afterwards, “and you can say wViat you wish to that 
Stirling without danger of its being used unfairly or to in- 
jure one. And he's the kind of man to be won by square 
dealing. ” 

Peter had spoken of his own district. “ I think,” he said, 
“that some good can be done in the way of non-partisan 
legislation. I’ve been studying the food supplies of the 
city, and, if I can, I shall try to get a bill introduced this 
winter to have official inspections systematized.” 

“ That will receive my approval if it is properly drawn. 
But you'll probably find the Health Board fighting you. 
It’s a nest of politicians.” 

“ If they won’t yield, I shall have to antagonize them, 
but I have had some talks with the men there, in con- 
nection with the ‘ swill-milk ’ investigations, and I 
think I can frame a bill that will do what I want, yet 
which they will not oppose. I shall try to make them 
help me in the drafting, for they can make it much better 
through their practical experience. ” 

“If you do that, the opposition ought not to be 
troublesome. What else do you want ? ” 

“ I’ve been thinking of a general Tenement-house bill, 
but I don’t think I shall try for that this winter. It’s 
a big subject, which needs very careful study, in 
which a lot of harm may be done by ignorance. There’s 
no doubt that anything which hurts the landlord, hurts 
the tenant, and if you make the former spend money, 
the tenant pays for it in the long run. Yet health 
must be protected. I shall try to find out what can be 
done.” 

“ I wish you would get into the legislature yourself, 
Mr. Stirling.” 

“I shall not try for office. I want to go on with my 
profession. But I shall hope to work in politics in the 
future. ” 

Peter took another day off, and spent a few minutes of 
it with the other most promising candidate. He did not 
see very much of him, for they were interrupted by 
another caller, and Peter had to leave before he could 
have a chance to continue the interview. 

“I had a call to-day from that fellow Stirling, who’s a 
delegate from the sixth ward.” the candidate told a 


A POLITICAL DEBUT. 


103 


“visiting statesman ” later. “I’m afraid hell give us 
trouble. He asks too many questions. Fortunately 
Dewilliger came to see me, and though I shouldn’t have 
seen him ordinarily, I found his call very opportune as a 
means of putting an end to Stirlings cross-examination." 

“He’s the one doubtful man on the city’s delegation," 
said the statesman. “It happened through a mistake. 
It will be very unfortunate if we can’t cast a solid city 
vote. ” 

Peter talked more in the next few days. He gave the 
“b’ys” his impressions of the two candidates, in a way 
which made them trust his conclusions. He saw his two 
fellow delegates, and argued long and earnestly with 
them. He went to every saloon-keeper in the district, 
and discussed the change in the liquor law which was 
likely to be a prominent issue in the campaign, telling 
them what he had been able to draw from both candidates 
about the subject. 

“Catlin seems to promise you the most, ’he told them, 
“and I don’t want to say he isn’t trying to help you. 
But if you get the law passed which he promises to sign, 
you won’t be much better off. In the first place, it will 
cost you a lot of money, as you know, to pass it ; and 
then it will tempt people to go into the business, so that 
it will cut your profits that way. Then, you may stir up 
a big public sentiment against you in the next election, 
and so lay yourselves open to unfriendly legislation. It 
is success, or trying to get too much, which has beaten 
every party, sooner or later, in this country. Look at 
slavery. If the Southerners had left things as they were 
under the Missouri Compromise, they never would have 
stirred up the popular outbreak that destroyed slavery. 
Now, Porter is said to be unfriendly to you, because he 
wants a bill to limit the number of licenses, and to in- 
crease the fee to new saloons. Don’t you see that is all 
in your favor, though apparently against you? In the 
first place, you are established, and the law will be drawn 
so as to give the old dealer precedence over a new one in 
granting fresh licenses. This limit will really give the 
established saloon more trade in the future, by reducing 
competition. While the increase in fee to new saloons 
will do the same.” 

t€ By > yer right,” said Blunkers 


104 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


“ That’s too good a name to use that way,” said Petet v 
but more as if he were stating a fact than reproving. 

Blunkers laughed good-naturedly. “Yer’ll be gittin' 
usen to close up yet, Mister Stirling. Yer too good for 
us. ” 

Peter looked at him. “Blunkers,” he said warmly, 
“no man is too good not to tell the truth to anyone 
whom he thinks it will help.” 

“Shake,” said Blunkers. Then he turned to the men at 
the tables. ^ “ Step up, boys,” he called. “I sets it up 
dis time to drink der health of der feller dat don’t drink. ” 

The boys drank. 


CHAPTER XXI* 

A POLITICAL DINNER. 

Peter had only a month for work after reaching his 
own conclusions, before the meeting of the conven- 
tion, but in that month he worked hard. As the result, 
a rumor, carrying dismay to .the party leaders, became 
current. 

“What’s this I hear?” said Gallagher’s former inter- 
viewer to that gentleman. “ They say Schlurger says he 
intends to vote for Porter, and Kennedy’s getting cold ? ” 

“ If you’ll go through the sixth you’ll hear more than 
that.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“There was a torchlight last night, of nearly every 
voter in the ward, and nothing but Stirling prevented 
them from making the three delegates pledge themselves 
to vote for Porter. He said they must go unbound.” 

The interviewer’s next remark is best represented by 
several “ blank its,” no allusion however being intended 
to bed-coverings. Then he cited the lower regions to 
know what it all meant. 

“ It means that that chap Stirling has got to be fixed, 
and fixed big. I thought I knew how to wire pull, and 
manage men, but he’s taken hold and just runs it as he 
wants. It’s he makes all the trouble.” 


A POLITICAL DINNER. 


i°5 

The interviewer left the court, and five minutes later 
was in Stirling’s office. 

“ My name’s Green,” he said. “ I’m a delegate to the 
convention, and one of the committee who has the ar- 
ranging of the special train and accommodations at 
Saratoga. ” 

“I’m glad you came in,” said Peter. “I bought my 
ticket yesterday, and the man at headquarters said he’d 
see that I was assigned a room at the United States.” 

“There’ll be no trouble about the arrangements. What 
I want to see you for, is to ask if you won’t dine with 
me this evening ? There’s to be several of the delegates 
and some big men there, to talk over the situation.” 

“ I should like to,” said Peter. 

The man pulled out a card, and handed it to Peter. 
“Six o’clock sharp,” he said. Then he went to head- 
quarters, and told the result of his two interviews. “Now 
who had better be there ? ” he asked. After consultation, 
a dinner of six was arranged. 

The meal proved to be an interesting one to Peter. 
First, he found that all the guests were well-known party 
men, whose names and opinions were matters of daily- 
notice in the papers. What was more, they talked con- 
vention affairs, and Peter learned in the two hours’ gene- 
ral conversation more of true “interests ” and “influences” 
and “pulls” and “advantages” than all his reading and 
talking had hitherto gained him. He learned that in 
New York the great division of interest was between 
the city and country members, and that this divided 
interest played a part in nearly every measure. “ Now,” 
said one of the best known men at the table, “the men 
who represent the city, must look out for the city. Por- 
ter’s a fine man, but he has no great backing, and no 
matter how well he intends by us, he can’t do more than 
agree to such bills as we can get passed. But Catlin has 
the Monroe members of the legislature under his thumb, 
and his brother-in-law runs Onandaga. He promises 
they shall vote for all we want. With that aid, we can 
carry what New York City needs, in spite of the country 
members. ” 

‘ * Would the country members refuse to vote for really 
good and needed city legislation ? ” asked Peter. 

“Every time, unless we agree to dicker with them on 


co6 TFTB HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

some country job. The country members hold the inter 
est of the biggest city in this country in their hands, and 
threaten or throttle those interests every time anything is 
wanted. ” 

“ And when it comes to taxation/' added another, “ the 
country members are always giving the cities the big end 
to carry.” 

“I had a talk with Catlin,” said Peter. “ It seemed to 
me that he wasn't the right kind of man.” 

“Catlin’s a timid man, who never likes to commit him- 
self. That’s because he always wants to do what his 
backers tell him. Of course when a man does that, he 
hasn’t decided views of his own, and naturally doesn’t 
wish to express what he may want to take back an hour 
later.” 

“ I don’t like straw men,” said Peter. 

“ A man who takes other people’s opinions is not a bad 
governor, Mr. Stirling. It all depends on whose opinion 
he takes. If we could find a man who was able to do 
what the majority wants every time, we could re-elect 
him for the next fifty years. You must remember that in 
this country we elect a man to do what we want — not to 
do what he wants himself.” 

“Yes,” said Peter. “But who is to say what the ma- 
jority wants ? ” 

“Arn’twe — the party leaders — who are meeting daily 
the ward leaders, and the big men in the different dis- 
tricts, better able to know what the people want than 
the man who sits in the governor’s room, with a door- 
keeper to prevent the people from seeing him ? ” 

“ You may not choose to do what the people want.” 

“Of course. I’ve h lped push things that I knew were 
unpopular. But this is very unusual, because it’s risky. 
Remember, we can only do things when our party is in 
power, so it is our interest to do what will please the 
people, if we are to command majorities and remain in 
office. Individually we have got to do what the majority 
of our party wants done, or we are thrown out, and new 
men take our places. And it’s just the same way with 
the parties.” 

“Well,” said Peter, “I understand the condition better, 
and can see what I could not fathom before, why the city 
delegates want Catlin. But my own ward has come out 


I 


A POLITICAL DINNER. 


107 

strong for Porter. We’ve come to the conclusion that his 
views on the license question are those which are best for 
us, and besides, he’s said that he will stand by us in 
some food and tenement legislation we want.” 

“ I know about that change, and want to say, Mr. Stir- 
ling, that few men of your years and experience, were 
ever able to do as much so quickly. But there are other 
sides, even to these questions, which you may not have 
yet considered. Any proposed restriction on the license 
will not merely scare a lot of saloon-keepers, who will 
only understand that it sounds unfriendly, but it will 
alienate every brewer and distiller, for their interest is to 
see saloons multiplied. Then food and tenement legisla- 
tion always stirs up bad feeling in the dealers and owners. 
If the opposite party would play fair, we could afford to 
laugh at it, but you see the party out of power can 
oppose about anything, knowing that a minority is never 
held responsible, and so by winning over the malcontents 
which every piece of legislation is sure to make, before 
long it goes to the polls with a majority, though it has 
really been opposing the best interests of the whole state. 
We can’t sit still, and do nothing, yet everything we do 
will alienate some interest.” 

‘‘It’s as bad as the doctrine of fore-ordination,” laughed 
another of the party : 

“ You can’t if you will, 

You can if you won’t, 

You’ll be damned if you do, 

You’ll be damned if you don’t.” 

4t You just said,” stated Peter, “ that the man who could 
do what the majority wants done every time, would be 
re-elected. Doesn’t it hold true as to a party ? ” 

“No. A party is seldom retained in power for such 
reasons. If it has a long tenure of office it is generally 
due to popular distrust of the other party. The natural 
tendency otherwise is to make office-holding a sort of 
see-saw. Let alone change of opinion in older men, there 
are enough new voters every four years to reverse major- 
ities in almost every state. Of course these young men 
care little for what either party has done in the past, and 
being young and ardent, they want to change things. 
The minority’s ready to please them, naturally. Reform 


io8 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

they call it, but it's quite as often * Deform * when they've 
done it.” 

Peter smiled and said, “Then you think my views on 
license, and food-inspection, and tenement-house regula- 
tion are * Deformities ' ? ” 

“We won’t say that, but a good many older and 
shrewder heads have worked over those questions, and 
while I don’t know what you hope to do, you’ll not be 
the first to want to try a change, Mr. Stirling.” 

“I hope to do good. I may fail, but it’s not right as it 
is, and I must try to better it. ” Peter spoke seriously, 
and his voice was very clear. ‘ ‘ I’m glad to have had 
this talk, before the convention meets. You are all expe- 
rienced men, and I value your opinions.” 

“But don’t intend to act on them,” said his host good- 
naturedly. 

“No. I’m not ready to say that. I’ve got to think 
them over.” 

“If you do that, Mr. Stirling, you’ll find we are right. 
We have not been twenty and thirty years in this business 
for nothing.” 

“ I think you know how to run a party — but poisoned 
milk was peddled in my ward. I went to law to punish 
the men who sold it. Now I’m going into politics to try 
and get laws and administration which will prevent such 
evils. I've told my district what I want. I think it 
will support me. I know you can help me, and I hope 
you will. We may disagree on methods, but if we both 
wish the good of New York, we can’t disagree on results.” 
Peter stopped, rather amazed himself at the length of his 
speech. 

“ What do you want us to do ? ” 

“You say that you want to remain in control. You 
say you can only do so by majorities. I want you to 
give this city such a government that you’ll poll every 
honest vote on our side,” said Peter warmly. 

“That’s only the generalization of a very young man,” 
said the leader. 

Peter liked him all the better for the snub. “ I general- 
ized, because it would make clear the object of my part- 
icular endeavors. I want to have the Health Board help 
me to draft a food-inspection bill, and I want the legislature 
to pass it, without letting it be tom to pieces for the 


A POLITICAL DINNER. 


109 

benefit of special interests. I don’t mind fair amend- 
ments, but they must be honest ones.” 

"And if the Health Board helps you, and the bill is 
made a law ? ” 

Peter looked Mr. Costell in the face, and spoke 
quietly : "I shall tell my ward that you have done 
them a great service. ” 

Two of the men moved uneasily in their seats, as if not 
comfortable, and a third scowled. 

"And if we can give you some tenement-house legis- 
lation ? ” 

" I shall tell my ward that you have done them a great 
service.” Peter spoke in the same tone of voice, and still 
looked Mr. Costell in the face. 

" And if we don’t do either ? ” 

" What I shall do then will depend on whether you 
refuse for a good reason or for none. In either case I 
shall tell them the facts.” 

"This is damned ” began one of the dinner-party, 

but the lifting of Mr. Costell’s hand stopped the speech 
there. 

"Mr. Stirling,” said Mr. Costell, rising as he spoke, "I 
hope when you come to think it over, that you will vote 
with us for Catlin. But whether you do or not, we want 
you to work with us. We can help you, and you can help 
us. When you are ready to begin on your bills, come 
and see me. ” 

" Thank you,” said Peter. "That is just what I want.” 
He said good-night to the company, and left the house. 

"That fellow is going to be troublesome,” said Green. 

"There’s no good trying to get anything out of him. 
Better split with him at once,” said the guest who had 
used the expletive. 

"He can’t have any very big hold,” said a third. 
"It’s only that trial which has given him a temporary 
popularity. ” 

" Wait and see if he goes back on Catlin, and if he does, 
lay for him,” remarked Green. 

A pause came, and they all looked at Costell, who was 
smiling a certain deep smile that was almost habitual 
with him, and which no one had ever yet been able to 
read. "No,” he said slowly. "You might beat him, 
but he isn’t the kind that stays beat. I’ll agree to outwit 


no 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


any man in politics, except the man who knows how to 
fight and to tell the people the truth. I’ve never yet 
seen a man beaten in the long run who can do both those, 
unless he chose to think himself beaten. Gentlemen, 
that Stirling is a fighter and a truth-teller, and you can’t 
beat him in his ward. There’s no use having him against 
us, so it’s our business to see that we have him with us. 
We may not be able to get him into line this time, but we 
must do it in the long run. For he’s not the kind that 
lets go. He’s beaten Nelson, and he’s beaten Gallagher, 
both of whom are old hands. Mark my words, in five 
years he’ll run the sixth ward. Drop all talk of fighting 
him. He is in politics to stay, and we must make it 
worth his while to stay with us. ” 


CHAPTER XXII. 

POLITICS. 

Peter sat up later than was prudent that night, studying 
his blank wall. Yet when he rose to go to bed, he gave 
his head a puzzled shake. When he had gone through 
his papers, and drunk his coffee the next morning, he 
went back to wall-gazing again. He was working over 
two conundrums not very easy to answer, which were 
somewhat to this effect : 

Does the best man always make the best official ? 

Is the honest judgment of a fellow verging on twenty- 
four better than the experienced opinion of many far older 
men? 

Peter began to think life had not such clear and direct 
“ right ” and “ wrong ” roads as he had thought. He had 
said to himself long ago that it was easy to take the right 
one, but he had not then discovered that it is often diffi- 
cult to know which is the right, in order to follow it. He 
had started in to punish Bohlmann, and had compromised. 
He had disapproved of Dennis breaking the law, and had 
compromised his disapproval. He had said he should 
not go into saloons, and had ended by going. Now he 
was confronted with the problem whether the interests oi 
his ward would be better served by the nomination of a 


POLITICS. 


HI 


man of good record, whom Peter personally nked, or by 
that of a colorless man, who would be ruled by the city’s 
leaders. In the one case Peter feared no support for his 
measures from his own party. In the other case he saw 
aid that was tantamount to success. Finally he shook 
himself 

"I believe Dennis is right,” he said aloud. “There ar# 
more ‘real* things than ‘ convictions ’ in New York polk 
tics, and a ‘real ’ thing is much harder to decide about in 
voting than a ‘conviction/” 

He went to his bedroom, packed his bag, and took 
his way to the station. There he found a dense crowd of 
delegates and “well-wishers,” both surrounding and filling 
the special train which was to carry New York’s contri- 
bution to the collected party wisdom, about to concentrate 
at Saratoga. 

Peter felt like a stranger in the crowd, but on mingling 
in it he quickly found himself a marked man. He was 
seized upon by one of the diners of the evening before, 
and soon found himself forming part of a group, which 
constantly changed its components, but continued to 
talk convention affairs steadily. Nor did the starting of 
the train, with cheers, brass bands, flags, and other 
enthusmg elements, make more than a temporary break. 
From tte time the special started, till it rolled into Saratoga, 
six Fj>m rs later, there was one long series of political debates 
an i confabs. Peter listened much, and learned much, 
tor the talk was very straight and plain. He had chats 
vithCostell and Green. His two fellow-delegates from 
“ de sixt ” sought him and discussed intentions. He liked 
Schlurger, a simple, guileless German, who wanted only 
to do what his constituents wished him to do, both in con- 
vention and Assembly. Of Kennedy he was not so sure. 
Kennedy had sneered a little at Peter’s talk about 
the “best man,” and about “helping the ward,” and had 
only found that Peter’s ideas had value after he had been 
visited by various of the saloon-keepers, seen the 
vast torchlight meeting, and heard the cheers at Peter’s 
arguments. Still, Peter was by no means sure that Ken- 
nedy was not a square man, and concluded he was 
right in not condemning him, when, passing through one 
of the cars, he overheard the following : 

“ What kind of man is that Stirling, who’s raised such 
— in the sixth ? " 


119 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“I don't know him, but Kennedy told me, before 
he’d swung round, that he was a darned good sort of a 
cuss. ” 

This was flattery, Peter understood, however question- 
able the form might seem, and he was pleased. Very 
few of us do not enjoy a real compliment. What makes 
a compliment uncomfortable is either a suspicion that 
the maker doesn’t mean it, or a knowledge that it is not 
merited. 

Peter went at once to his room on reaching the hotel in 
Saratoga, intending to make up the sleep of which his 
long “think” the night before had robbed him. But 
scarcely had the colored gentleman bowed himself out, 
after the usual “can I git de gentleman a pitcher of ice 
water ” (which translated means : “has de gentleman any 
superfluous change ? ”) when a knock came at the door. 
Peter opened it, to find a man outside. 

* 1 Is this Mr. Stirling's room ? ” inquired the individual. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Can I see him ? ” 

* ‘ Come in. ” Peter moved his bag off one of his chairs, 
and his hat and overcoat off the other. 

“ Mr. Stirling.” said the stranger as he sat down, “I 
am Senator Maguire, and am, as perhaps you know, one 
of Porter’s managers.” 

“Yes.” 

“We understand that you are friendly to us. Now, I 
needn't say that New York is otherwise a unit in opposing 
us.” 

“No,” said Peter. “My fellow-delegates from the 
Sixth, Schlurger and Kennedy, stand as I do I ” 

“Are you sure? ” 

“ Yes.” 

'“The change must have been very sudden. They 
were elected as Catlin men, we were told.” 

“Yes. But there’s quite a different feeling in the ward 
now, and they have yielded to it” 

“That’s good news.” 

“We all three come here prepared to do what seems 

best.” 

The Senator’s expression lost some of the satisfaction 
Peter’s news had put into it. He gave a quick look at 
Peter’s face, as if to try and find from it what lay behind 


POLITICS. 


*13 

the words. He hesitated, as if divided in mind over two 
courses of action. Finally he said : 

“ I needn’t tell you that this opposition of practically 
the whole of the New York City delegation, is the most 
serious set-back to Porter’s chance. Now, we have talked 
it over, and it seemed to us that it would be a great card 
for him if he could be nominated by a city delegate. 
Will you do it P ” 

“ I don’t know him well enough, do I ? Doesn’t the 
nominating delegate have to make a speech in his 
favor ? ” 

“Yes. But I can give you the material to-night. Oi 
if you prefer, we’ll give it to you all written for delivery ? * 

“1 don’t make other men’s speeches, Mr. Maguire.” 

“Suit yourself about that. It shall be just as you 
please.” 

“The difficulty is that I have not decided myself, yet, 

how I shall vote, and of course such an act is bind- 

’ »» 

mg. 

Mr. Maguire’s countenance changed again. “I’m sorry 
to hear that. I hoped you were for Porter. He’s far away 
the best man. ” 

“So I think.” 

The Senator leaned back in his chair, and tucked his 
thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat. He thought 
he had fathomed Peter, and felt that the rest was plain 
sailing. “This is not a chap to be tolled. I’ll give him 
the gaff at once,” was his mental conclusion. Then he 
asked aloud : 

• ‘ What do you want ? ” 

It was a question susceptible of many different con- 
structions, but as Mr. Maguire asked it, it seemed to him 
to have but one, and that not very honest. Peter hesi- 
tated. The temptation was strong to lead the Senator on, 
but he did not like to do it. It seemed to savor of traps, 
and Peter had never liked traps. Still — he did want to 
know if the managers on Porter’s side would stoop to buy 
his support by some bargain. As Peter hesitated, weigh- 
ing the pros and cons, Maguire spoke again. 

“What does the other side offer you ? ” 

Peter spoke quickly. “They haven’t offeree me any' 
thing, but advice. That is, Costell said he’d try and help 

me on some legislation I want ” 

8 


114 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 

" Special?” interrupted Maguire. 

"No. General. I've talked about it with Porter ai 
well." 

"Ohl Indeed?" 

"I’m really anxious to get that Otherwise I warn 
nothing.” 

“Whew," said the Senator to himself. "That was a 
narrow squeak. If he hadn’t spoken so quickly, I should 
have shown my hand before the call. I wonder if he got 
any inkling ? " He never dreamed that Peter had spoken 
quickly to save that very disclosure. 

" I needn’t say, Mr. Stirling, that if you can see your 
way to nominate Porter, we shall not forget it. Nor will 
he. He isn’t the kind of man who forgets his friends. 
Many a man in to-morrow’s convention would give any- 
thing for the privilege we offer you. " 

"Well," said Peter. " I realize the honor offered me, 
but I don’t see my way to take it. It will please me bet- 
ter to see him nominated by some one who has really 
6tood close to him, than to gain his favor by doing it 
myself. " 

" Think twice, Mr. Stirling." 

"If you would rather, I will not give you my answer 
till to-morrow morning ? ” 

"I would," said Maguire rising. "Try and make it 
favorable. It’s a great chance to do good for yourself and 
for your side. Good-night." 

Peter closed his door, and looked about for a bit of 
blank wall. But on second thought he sat down on his 
window-sill, and, filling his pipe, tried to draw conclu- 
sions as well as smoke from it. 

"I wonder,” he pondered to himself, "how much of 
that was Maguire, and how much Porter? Ought I, for 
the sake of doing my best for my ward, to have let him 
go on ? Has an agent any right to refuse what will help 
his client, even if it comes by setting pitfalls ? " 

Rap, rap, rap. 

"Come in," called Peter, forgetting he had turned 
down his light. 

The door opened and Mr. Costell came in. "Having 
a quiet smoke ? ” he asked. 

"Yes. I haven't a cigar to offer you. Can you join 
me in a pipe ? " 


POLITICS . 


ns 

“ I haven’t come to that yet. Suppose you try one of 
my cigars.” Costell sat down on the window-ledge by 
Peter. 

“Thank you,*’ said Peter. “I like a cigar, but it must 
be a good one, and that kind I can’t afford” He lit the 
cigar, and leaned back to luxuriate in it. 

“You’ll like that, I’m sure. Pretty sight, isn’t it ? n 
Costell pointed to the broad veranda, three stories below 
them, gay with brilliant dresses. 

“Yes. It’s my first visit here, so it’s new to me.” 

“It won’t be your last. You’ll be attending other con« 
mentions than this.” 

“I hope so.” 

“ One of my scouts tells me you’ve had a call from Ma- 
guire ? ” 

“Yes.” Peter hesitated a moment. “He wants me 
to nominate Porter,” he continued, as soon as he had de- 
cided that plain speaking was fair to Maguire. 

“ We shall be very sorry to see you do it.” 

“ I don’t think I shall. They only want me because it 
would give the impression that Porter has a city backing, 
and to try to give that amounts to a deception.” 

“ Can they get Schlurger or Kennedy ? ” 

“Schlurger is safe. I don’t know about Kennedy.” 

“Can you find out for us ? ” 

“ Yes. When would you like to know? ” 

“Can you see him now ? I’ll wait here.” 

Peter rose, looking at his cigar with a suggestion of re- 
gret. But he rubbed out the light, and left the room. At 
the office, he learned the number of Kennedy’s room, and 
went to it. On knocking, the door was opened only a 
narrow crack. 

“Oh 1 it’s you,” said Kennedy. “Come in.” 

Peter entered, and found Maguire seated in an easy at- 
titude on a lounge. He noticed that his thumbs were 
once more tucked into his waistcoat. 

“Mr. Kennedy,” said Peter without seating himself, 
“there is an attempt being made to get a city delegate to 
nominate Porter. It seems to me that is his particular 
friends’ business.” 

Maguire spoke so quickly that Kennedy had no chance 
to reply : “ Kennedy’s promised to nominate him, Mr. 

Stirling, if you won’t. ” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


d6 

“Do you feel that you are bound to do it?* asked 
Peter. 

Kennedy moved uneasily in his chair. “ Yes, I suppose. 
I have promised.” 

“Will you release Mr. Kennedy from his promise if he 
asks it ? ” Peter queried to Maguire. 

“Why, Mr. Stirling, I don’t think either he oj you 
ought to ask it. ” 

“That was not my question.” 

It was the Senator’s turn to squirm. He did not want 
to say no, for fear of angering Peter, yet he did not like 
to surrender the advantage. Finally he said : “Yes, I’ll 
release him, but Mr. Kennedy isn’t the kind of a man 
that cries off from a promise. That’s women’s work. ” 

“No,” said Kennedy stiffening suddenly in backbone, 
as he saw the outlet ope ed by Maguire, between antag- 
onizing Peter, and retracting his consent “ I don’t play 
baby. Not me.” 

Peter stood thinking for a longer time than the others 
found comfortable. Maguire whistled to prove that he 
was quite at ease, but he would not have whistled if he 
had been. 

“I think, Mr. Kennedy, that I'll save you from the 
difficulty by nominating Mr. Porter myself,” said Peter 
finally. 

“Good ! ” said Maguire ; and Kennedy, reaching down 
into his hip pocket, produced a version of the holy text 
not yet included in any bibliography. Evidently the 
atmosphere was easier. “About your speech, Mr. Stir- 
ling?” continued the Senator. 

“I shall say what I think right.” 

Something in Peter’s voice made Maguire say: “II 
will be of the usual kind, of course ? ” 

“I don’t know,” said Peter, “ I shall tell the facts . n 

u What sort of facts ? ” 

“I shall tell how it is that a delegate of the sixth ward 
nominates Porter.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“I don’t see,” said Peter, “why I need say it You 
know it as well as I do.” 

“ I know of many reasons why you should do it.” 

“ No,” said Peter. “There’s only one, and that has 
been created in the last ten minutes. Mr. Maguire, if 


POLITICS. 


”7 

you insist on the sixth ward nominating Mr. Porter, the 
sixth ward is going to tell why it does so. I'm sorry, for 
I like Porter, but the sixth ward shan’t lend itself to a 
fraud, if I can help it. ” 

Kennedy had been combining things spiritual and 
aqueous at his wash-stand. But his interest in the blend- 
ing seemed suddenly to cease. Maguire, too, took his 
thumbs from their havens of rest, and looked dissatis- 
fied. 

“ Look here, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “it's much simpler 
to leave it to Kennedy. You think you’re doing what’s 
right, but you’ll only do harm to us, and to yourself. If 
you nominate Porter, the city gang won’t forgive you, 
and unless you can say what we want said, we shall be 
down on you. So you’ll break with both sides.” 

“I think that is so. That is why I want some real 
friend of Porter’s to do it.” 

Maguire laughed rather a forced laugh. “I suppose 
we’ve got to satisfy you. We’ll have Porter nominated 
by one of our own crowd.” 

“ I think that’s best. Good-evening.” Peter went to 
the door. 

“Mr. Stirling, called Kennedy. “Won’t you stay 
and take some whisky and water with us ? ” 

“ Thank you,” said Peter. “ Mr. Costell’s in my room 
and he must be tired of waiting.” He closed the door, 
and walked awa} . 

The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment. 

“ The cuss is playing a double game,” Maguire 

gasped. 

“ I don’t know what it means ! ” said Kennedy. 

“Mean?” cried Maguire. “It can mean only one 
thing. He’s acting under Costell’s orders.” 

“ But why should he give it away to us ? ” 

“ How the should I know ? Look here, Kennedy, 

you must do it, after all.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Tut, tut, man, you must.” 

“ But my ward ? ” 

“Come. We’ll make it quarantine, as you want 
That’s six years, and you can your ward.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“That’s the talk.” 


Il8 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an 
hour. Then Maguire said good-night. 

“You shall have the speech the first thing in the morn- 
ing/' he said at parting. Then as he walked down the 
long corridor, he muttered, “Now then, Stirling, look out 
for the hind heel of the mule." 

Peter found Costell still waiting for him. 

“ It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was 
there.” 

“ Indeed 1 ” said Costell, making room for Peter on the 
window-ledge. 

Peter re-lit his cigar. “Maguire promises me that 
Porter shall be nominated by one of his friends.” 

“He had been trying Kennedy ? ” 

“ I didn't ask.” 

Costell smiled. “ I had no business to ask you that? * 

“ No,” Peter said frankly. 

Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence. 

Then Costell began talking about Saratoga. He told 
Peter where the “Congress” spring was, and what was 
worth seeing. Finally he rose to go. He held out his 
hand, and said : 

“Mr. Stirling, you’ve been as true as steel with us, and 
with the other men. I don’t want you to suppose we are 
not conscious of it. I think you’ve done us a great serv- 
ice to-night, although it might have been very profitable 
to you if you had done otherwise. I don’t think that 
you’ll lose by it in the long run, but I’m going to thank 
you now, for myself. Good-night.” 

Peter had a good night. Perhaps it was only because 
he was sleepy, but a pleasant speech is not a bad night- 
cap. At least it is better than a mental question-mark as 
to whether one has done wrong. Peter did not know how 
it was coming out, but he thought he had done right, and 
need not spend time on a blank wall that evening. 


THE CONVENTION 


XX* 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE CONVENTION. 

Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, 
he was up the next morning, and had tramped his 
eight miles through and around Saratoga, before the place 
gave many evidences of life. He ended his tramp at the 
Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with ex- 
ceeding disgust at the result. As he set down his half- 
finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De 
Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass. 

“This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, holding 
out her hand. “ When did you arrive ? w 

“I only came last night” 

“ And how long shall you be here ? ” 

“ I cannot say. I am attending the convention, and 
my stay will depend on that.” 

“ Surely you are not a Democrat ? ” said Miss De Voe, a 
shade of horror showing itself in her face, in spite of hei 
good breeding. In those days it was not, to put it mildly, 
a guarantee of respectability to belong to that party, 
and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social 
station, all the more because she was absolutely ignorant 
of political events. 

Peter said he was. 

“How can you be? When a man can ally himself 
with the best, why should he choose the worst ? ” 

“ I think,” said Peter quietly, “ that a Pharisee said the 
same thing, in different words, many hundred years 
ago.” 

Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed. She also 
became suddenly conscious of the two girls who had 
come to the spring with her. They had been forgotten 
in the surprise over Peter, but now Miss De Voe won- 
dered if they had heard his reply, and if they had enough 
Bible lore to enable them to understand the reproof. 

“ I am sure you don't mean that,” she said, in the sting 
of the moment 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


two 

•‘I am very sorry," said Peter, “if I made an unkind 
speech. What I meant was that no one has a right to 
pick out the best for himself. I am sure, from your letter 
to me, that you think a man should help those not as 
well off as himself.” 

“Oh, but that is very different Of course we should 
be charitable to those who need our help, but we need not 
mix in their low politics.” 

“If good laws, and good administration can give the 
poor good food, and good lodgings, don’t you think the 
>est charity is to ‘ mix ’ in politics, and try to obtain 
*uch results ? " 

“ I want you to know my two cousins,” Miss De Voe 
replied. “ Dorothy, I wish to present Mr. Stirling. My 
cousin, Miss Ogden, and Miss Minna Ogden.” 

Peter saw two very pretty girls, and made a bow to 
them. 

“Which way are you walking?” asked Miss De Voe. 

“ I have been tramping merely for exercise,” said Peter, 
“and stopped here to try the spring, on my way to the 
United States.” 

“It is hardly worth while, but if you will get into our 
carriage, we will drop you there. Or if you can spare 
the time, we will drive to our cottage, and then send you 
back to the hotel.” 

“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I shall only crowd 
you, I fear.” 

“ No. There is plenty of room. ” 

“ Will the convention be interesting to watch, Mr. Stir- 
ling ? ” asked one of the girls, as soon as they were 
seated. 

“I don’t know,” Peter told her. “It is my first ex- 
perience at it There is pretty strong feeling, and that of 
course makes it interesting to the delegates, but I am 
not sure that it would be so to others. ” 

“Will there be speeches, and cheers, and all that sort 
of thing ? " 

“Yes.” 

“Cousin Anneke, won't you take us? It will be 
such fun 1 ” 

“ Are spectators admitted, Mr. Stirling?” 

“ I believe so. I heard something about tickets last 
night If you care to go, I’ll see if I can get you some? * 


THE CONVENTION, 


iai 


“Oh, please,” cried both girls. 

“ If you can do so, Mr. Stirling, we should like to see 
the interesting part,” said Miss De Voe. 

“ I'll try. ” 

* Send word back by Oliver.” The carriage had drawn 
up at the cottage, and farewells were made. 

As soon as Peter reached the hotel, he went to the New 
York City delegation room, and saw Costell. He easily 
secured admissions, and pencilling on a card, “At head- 
quarters they tell me that the nominations will begin at 
the afternoon session, about two o’clock,” he sent them 
back by the carriage. Then bearding the terrors of the 
colored “monarch of all he surveys,” who guards the 
dining-room of every well-ordered Saratoga hotel, he 
satisfied as large an appetite as he remembered in a long 
time. 

The morning proceedings in the convention were purely 
formal. The election of the chairman, the roll-call, the 
naming of the committees, and other routine matter was 
gotten through with, but the real interest centred 
in the undertone of political talk, going on with little re- 
gard to the business in hand. After the committees were 
named, an unknown man came up to Peter, and intro- 
duced himself by a name which Peter at once recognized 
as that of one of the committee on the platform. 

“Mr. Costell thinks you might like to see this, and 
can perhaps suggest a change,” explained Mr. Talcott, 
laying several sheets of manuscript on Peter’s desk and 
indicating with his finger a certain paragraph. 

Peter read it twice before saying anything. “I think 
I can better it,” he said. “If you can give me time 
I'm very slow about such things. ” 

“All right. Get it in shape as quickly as possible, and 
send it to the committee-room.” 

Left alone Peter looked round for a blank wall. Fail- 
ing in his search, he put his head into his hands, and 
tried to shut out the seething, excited mass of men about 
him. After a time he took a sheet of paper and wrote a 
paragraph for the platform. It pledged the party to in- 
vestigate the food and tenement questions, and to pass 
such remedial legislation as should seem best It pledged 
the party to do this, with as little disturbance and inter- 
ference with present conditions as possible, “but fully 


122 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


recognizing the danger of State interference, we place 
human life above money profits, and human health above 
annual incomes, and shall use the law to its utmost to 
protect both. ” When it appeared in the platform, there 
was an addition that charged the failure to obtain 
legislation 4 4 which should have rendered impossible the 
recent terrible lesson in New York City ” to “ the obstruc- 
tion in the last legislature in the interest of the moneyed 
classes and landlords, by the Republican party.” That 
had not been in Peter’s draft and he was sorry to see it 
Still, the paragraph had a real ring of honesty and feeling 
in it. That was what others thought too. “ Gad, that 
Stirling knows how to sling English,” said one of the 
committee, when the paragraph was read aloud. “ He 
makes it take right hold.” Many an orator in that fall’s 
campaign read the nineteenth section of the Democratic 
platform aloud, feeling that it was ammunition of the 
right kind. It is in all the New York papers of September 
24th, of that year. 

Immediately after the morning adjournment, Green 
came up to Peter. 

“We’ve had a count, and can’t carry Catlin. So we 
shan’t even put him up. What do you think of Milton ? ” 

“ I don’t know him personally, but he has a very good 
record, I believe.” 

“ He isn’t what we want, but that’s not the question. 
We must take what we can get.” 

“I suppose you think Porter has a chance.” 

“ Not if we take Milton.” 

“Between the two I have no choice.” 

An hour later, the convention was called to order by 
the chairman. A few moments sufficed to complete the 
unfinished business, and then the chairman's gavel fell, 
and every one knew without his announcement that the 
crucial moment had been reached. 

Much to Peter’s surprise, Kennedy was one of the 
members who was instantly on his feet, and was the one 
selected for recognition by the chairman. He was still 
more surprised when Kennedy launched at once into 
a glowing eulogium of Porter. Peter was sitting next 
Kennedy, and though he sat quietly, a sad look came into 
the face usually so expressionless. He felt wronged. 
He felt that he had been an instrument in the deceiving 


THE CONVENTION, 


*23 


of others. Most of all he grieved to think that a delegate 
of his ward, largely through his own interference, was 
acting discreditably. Peter wanted others to do right, 
and he felt that that was not what Kennedy was doing. 

The moment Kennedy finished, Peter rose, as did 
Maguire. The convention was cheering for Porter, and 
it took some time to quiet it to a condition when it was 
worth while recognizing any one. During this time the 
chairman leaned forward and talked with Green, who sat 
right below him, for a moment. Green in turn spoke to 
Costell, and a little slip of paper was presently handed up 
to the chairman, who from that moment became absolutely 
oblivious of the fact that Maguire was on his feet. When 
silence finally came, in spite of Maguire’s, “Mr. Chair- 
man/' that individual said, “ Mr. Stirling." 

Peter began in a low voice, “ In rising, Mr. Chairman, 
to second the nomination of Mr. Porter, I feel that it would 
be idle in me to praise one so well known to all of us, 
even if he had not just been the subject of so appreciative 
a speech from my colleague " 

Here cries of “ louder ” interrupted Peter, during which 
interruption Green said to Costell, “We’ve been tricked." 

“I’m not so sure," replied Costell, “Maguire’s on his 
feet yet, and doesn’t look happy. Something’s happening 
which has not been slated." 

When Peter resumed, there were no more cries of 
“ louder.” His introduction had been a matter of trouble 
and doubt to him, for he liked Porter, and feared he 
might not show it. But now he merely had something to 
tell his audience, and that was easy work. So, his voice 
ringing very clear and distinct, he told them of the original 
election of the delegates ; of the feeling of his ward ; of 
the attempts to obtain a city nomination of Porter ; of 
Maguire’s promise. “Gad, he hits from the shoulder,” 
said Green. As soon as the trend of his remarks was 
realized, Porter’s supporters began to hiss and hoot. 
Peter at once stopped, but the moment silence came he 
began again, and after a repetition of this a few times, 
they saw they could neither embarrass nor anger him, so 
they let him have his say. He brought his speech to an 
end by saying : 

“I have already expressed my admiration of Mr. Porter, 
and as soon as I had made up my mind to vote for him, 


124 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


I made no secret of that intention. But he should not 
have been nominated by a city delegate, for he is not the 
choice of New York City, and any attempt to show that 
he is, or that he has any true backing there, is only an 
attempt to deceive. In seconding his nomination there- 
fore, I wish it to be distinctly understood that both his 
nomination and seconding are personal acts, and in no 
sense the act of the delegates of the city of New York.” 

There was a mingling of hoots and cheers as Peter sat 
down, though neither was very strong. In truth, the 
larger part of the delegates were very much in the dark 
as to the tendency of Peter’s speech. ‘‘Was it friendly 
or unfriendly to Porter ? ” they wondered. 

“Mr. Maguire,” said the chairman. 

“Mr. Chairman, the gentleman who has just sat 
down is to be complimented on his speech. In my whole 
life I have never heard so deceptive and blinding a nar- 
ration. We know of Brutus stabbing his friend. But 
what shall we say of a pretended Brutus who caresses 
while he stabs ? ” 

Here the Porter adherents became absolutely sure of 
the character of Peter’s speech, and hissed. 

“Nor is it Imperial Csesar alone,” continued Maguire, 
“against whom he turns his poniard. Not content with 
one foul murder, he turns against Caesar’s friends. By 
devilish innuendo, he charges the honorable Mr. Kennedy 
and myself with bargaining to deceive the American 
people. I call on him for proof or retraction.” 

The convention laughed. Peter rose and said : “Mr. 
Chairman, I gave a truthful account of what actually 
took place last evening in the United States hotel. I 
made no charges.” 

“ But you left the impression that Mr. Kennedy ana I 
had made a deal,” shrieked Maguire. 

“ If the gentleman draws that conclusion from what 
passed, it is not my fault.” 

The convention laughed. “Do you mean to charge 
such a bargain ? ” angrily shouted Maguire. 

“Will you deny it?” asked Peter calmly. 

“ Then you do charge it ? ” 

Here the convention laughed for the third time. Green 
shouted “deny it,” and the cry was taken up by many 
of the delegates. 


THE CONVENTION. 


12 * 


“ Yes,” screamed Maguire. “ I do deny it.” 

Peter turned to Kennedy. “ Do you too, deny it?” 

“ Yes,” shouted Kennedy, loudly. 

Again the convention laughed. 

“Then,” said Peter, “if I had charged you with a bar- 
gain, I should now find it necessary to apologize.” 

The convention roared. Maguire screamed something, 
but it could not be heard. The tenor of his remarks was 
indicated by his red face and clinched fist. 

Costell smiled his deep smile. “I’m very glad,” he 
said to the man next him, ‘ ‘ that we didn’t pick Stirling up. ” 

Then Milton was nominated and seconded, as were 
also Catlin, and four minor stars. That done, a ballot 


taken and the vote stood : 

Porter 

Milton .................................. 


Catlin. 


Scattering % 


second ballot showed : 

Porter 


Milton 


Catlin - t-jt-ttttt-t--... ---- ........... 


Scattering. •»•••••••••••••••••••• ... • ....... 




third ballot gave : 

Porter 


Milton 


Catlin ...... . .. ........ 


Scattering 



“ Porter’s done for on the next,” was whispered round 
the hall, though where it started, no one knew. Evi- 
dently his adherents thought so, for one made a motion 
to adjourn. It was voted down, and once more the roll 
call started. 

“I shall vote for Milton,” Peter told Schlurger, and the 
changes in the delegations as the call proceeded, proved 
that many changes were being made the same way. Yet 
the fourth ballot showed : 


Porter. . . • 
Milton.... 
Catlin.... 
Scatte r in g , 


Ml 

208 

14 


126 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING , , 


The wildest excitement broke out in the Porter delegates. 
“ They’ve beaten us,” screamed Kennedy, as much to 
himself as to those about. “They’ve used Milton to 
break our ranks, meaning Catlin all the time.” So in 
truth, it was. Milton had been put up to draw off 
Porter’s delegates, but the moment they had begun to 
turn to Milton, enough New York City delegates had been 
transferred to Catlin to prevent Milton being chosen 
Amid protests and angry words on all sides anothe 
ballot was taken : 

Catlin 256 

Porter 118 

Milton IIO 

Before the result was announced, Green was at Peter's 
«lbow. 

“ Will you move to make it unanimous ? ” he asked. 

“Yes.” And Peter made the formal motion, which 
was carried by acclamation. Half an hour served to 
choose the Lieutenant-Governor and the rest of the ticket, 
for the bulk of it had already been slated. The platform 
was adopted, and the convention dissolved. 

“Well,” said Kennedy angrily to Peter, “ I guess you’ve 
messed it this time. A man can’t please both sides, but 
he needn’t get cussed by both.” 

Peter went out and walked to his hotel. “I’m afraid I 
did mess it,” he thought, “yet I don’t see what else I 
could have done.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND UNDERSTANDINGS. 

“ Did you understand what it all meant, Cousin An- 
'neke?” asked Dorothy, as they were coming down- 
stairs. 

“No. The man who got so angry seemed to think 
Mr. Stirling had ” 

She stopped short. A group of men on the sidewalk 
were talking, and she paused to hear one say : 

“To see that young chap Stirling handling Maguire 
was an eye-opener.” 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND UNDERSTANDINGS . 127 

Another man laughed, rather a deep, quiet laugh. 
“ Maguire understands everything but honesty,” he said. 
“You can always beat him with that.” 

Miss De Voe would have like to stay and listen, but 
there were too many men. So the ladies entered the car- 
riage. 

“ At least we know that he said he was trying to tell 
the truth,” she went on, “and you just heard what that 
man said. I don’t know why they all laughed.” 

“ He didn’t seem to mind a bit.” 

“No. Hasn’t he a funny half-embarrassed, half-cool 
manner ? ” 

“ He wasn’t embarrassed after he was fairly speaking. 
You know he was really fine-looking, when he spoke.” 

“ Yes,” said Dorothy. “You said he had a dull, heavy 
face.” 

“ That was the first time I saw him, Dorothy. It’s a 
face which varies very much. Oliver, drive to the United 
States. We will take him home to dinner.” 

“ Oh, good,” cried the youngest “ Then he will tell 
us why they laughed. ” 

As they drove up to the hotel, Peter had just reached 
the steps. He turned to the carriage, the moment he 
saw that they wanted him. 

“We wish to carry you off to a simple country din- 
ner,” Miss De Voe told him. 

“Iam going to take the special to New York, and that 
leaves in half an hour. ” 

“ Take a later train.” 

“ My ticket wouldn’t be good on it” 

Most men Miss DeVoe would have snubbed on the 
spot, but to Peter she said : “ Then get another ticket” 

“ I don’t care to do that,” said Peter. 

“Oh, please, Mr. Stirling,” said Minna. “I^want to 
ask you a lot of questions about the convention.” 

“ Hush, Minna,” said Miss DeVoe. She was nettled 
that Peter should refuse, and that her niece could stoop to 
beg of “ a criminal lawyer and ward politician, ” as she put 
it mentally. But she was determined not to show it. 
“ We are sorry. Good-evening. Home, Oliver.” 

So they did not learn from Peter why the convention 
laughed. The subject was brought up at dinner, and 
Dorothy asked the opinion of the voters of the family. 


128 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“ Probably he had made a fluke of some kind,” one 
said. 

“ More probably he had out-sharped the other side/ 
suggested a second. 

“ It will be in the papers to-morrow,” said the first sug* 
gestor. 

The three women looked in the next day's papers, but 
the reporters were as much at sea in regard to the Stirling- 
sixth-ward incident, as had been the rank-and-file in the 
convention. Three took their views from Maguire, and 
called it “ shameful treason,” and the like. Two called 
it “ unprincipled and contradictory conduct” One alone 
said that “ Mr. Stirling seemed to be acting conscien- 
tiously, if erratically.” Just what effect it had had on 
the candidates none of the papers agreed in. One said 
it had killed Porter. Another, that “ it was a purely 
personal matter without influence on the main question.* 
The other papers shaded between these, though two 
called it “a laughable incident.” The opposition press 
naturally saw in it an entire discrediting of both factions 
of the Democratic party, and absolute proof that the 
nominee finally selected was unfit for office. 

Unable to sift out the truth, the ladies again appealed to 
the voters of the family. 

“ Oh,” said one, “ Stirling did something tricky and 
was caught in it. " 

“ I don’t believe that,” said Miss De Voe. 

“ Nor I,” said Dorothy. 

“Well, if you want to make your political heeler an 
angel, I have no objection," laughed the enfranchised 
being. 

“ I don't think a man who made that speech about the 
children can be a scoundrel,” said Dorothy. 

“ I don’t either,” said Minna. 

“ That's the way you women reason,” responded he of 
the masculine intellect “Because a man looks out for 
some sick kittens, ergo, he is a political saint If you 
must take up with politicians, do take Republicans, for 
then, at least, you have a small percentage of chance in 
your favor that they are gentlemen.” 

“ Don’t be a Pharisee, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe, 
utilizing Peter’s rebuke. 

“Then don’t trouble me with political questions 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND UNDERSTANDINGS- 129 

Politics are so vulgar in this country that no gentleman 
keeps up with them.” 

Miss De Voe and the two girls dropped the “vulgar'* 
subject, but Miss De Voe said later : 

“ I should like to know what they laughed at? ” 

" Do ask him — if he comes to call on you, this winter, 
Cousin Ann eke.” 

“No. I asked him once and he did not come.” Miss 
De Voe paused a moment. “I shall not ask him again,” 
she added. 

“ I don’t think he intends to be rude,” said Dorothy. 

“ No,” responded Miss De Voe. “ I don’t think he 
knows what he is doing. He is absolutely without our 
standards, and it is just as well for both that he shouldn’t 
call.” Woman-like, Miss De Voe forgot that she had 
said Peter was a gentleman. 

If Peter had found himself a marked man in the trip 
up, he was doubly so on the return train. He sat most 
of the time by himself, pondering on what had hap- 
pened, but he could not be unconscious of the number 
of people to whom he was pointed out. He was con- 
scious too, that his course had not been understood, 
and that many of those who looked at him with interest, 
did so without approbation. He was not buoyed up 
either, by a sense that he had succeeded in doing the best. 
He had certainly hurt Porter, and had made enemies of 
Maguire and Kennedy. Except for the fact that he had 
tried to do right, he could see no compensating balance. 

Naturally the newspapers the next morning did not 
cheer him, though perhaps he cared less for what they 
said than he ought. He sent them, good, bad, and 
indifferent, to his mother, writing her at the same time a 
long letter, telling her how and why he had taken this 
course. He wrote also a long letter to Porter, explaining 
his conduct Porter had already been told that Peter was 
largely responsible for his defeat, but after reading Peter’s 
letter, he wrote him a very kind reply, thanking him for 
his support and for his letter. “ It is not always easy to 
do what one wants in politics,” he wrote, “but if one tries 
With high motives, for high things, even defeat loses its 
bitterness. I shall not be able to help you, in your 
wished-for reforms as greatly as I hoped, but I am not quite 
ft nonentity in politics even now, and if at any time you 
9 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


* 3 ° 

think my aid worth the asking, do not hesitate to call on 
me for it. I shall always be glad to see you at my house 
for a meal or a night, whether you come on political mat* 
ters or merely for a chat. " 

Peter found his constituents torn with dissensions 
over his and Kennedy's course in the convention. He 
did not answer in kind the blame and criticism industri- 
ously sowed by Kennedy ; but he dropped into a half-a- 
dozen saloons in the next few days, and told “ the b’ys ” 
a pretty full history of the “behind-the-scenes" part. 

“Pm afraid I made mistakes," he frankly acknowl- 
edged, “ yet even now I don’t see how I could have done 
differently. I certainly thought I was doing right." 

“An’ so yez were," shouted Dennis. “An’ if that 
dirty beast Kennedy shows his dirty face inside these 
doors, it’s a washin’ it will get wid the drainin’ av the 
We wants none av his dirty bargains 

“I don’t know that he had made any bargain," said 
Peter. 

“But we do," shouted one of the men. “It’s a bar- 
gain he’s always makin’." 

“ Yes," said Dennis. “It’s Kennedy looks out for him- 
self, an’ we’ll let him do it next time all by himself." It 
could not be traced to its origin, but in less than a week 
the consensus of opinion in the ward was that : “ Ken- 
nedy voted for himself, but Stirling for us." 

The ward, too, was rather proud of the celebrity it had 
achieved. The papers had not merely paragraphed Peter, 
and the peculiar position of the “ district" in the conven- 
tion, but they had begun now asking questions as to how 
the ward would behave. “Would it support Catlin ? " 
“Was it true that the ward machine had split, and 
intended to nominate rival tickets ? ’’ “ Had one faction 

made a deal with the Republicans ? ’’ 

“Begobs," said Dennis, “it’s the leaders an’ the 
papers are just afther discoverin' there is a sixth ward, an* 
it’s Misther Stirling’s made them do it." 

The chief party leaders had stayed over at Saratoga, but 
Peter had a call from Costell before the week was out. 

“The papers gave it to you rather rough," Costell said 
kindly, “ but they didn’t understand it We thought you 
behaved very square." 



MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND UNDERSTANDINGS, 13V 

‘‘They tell me I did Porter harm.” 

“ No. It was Maguire did the harm. You simply told 
about it. Of course you get the blame. ” 

“ My constituents stand by me." 

“ How do they like Catlin ? ” 

“I think they are entirely satisfied. I’m afraid they 
never cared much who got it.” 

“ I’m told Kennedy is growling, and running amuck ? * 

“ He’s down on Catlin and me.” 

“Well, if you think best, we’ll placate him ? But Gal- 
lagher seemed to think he couldn’t do much ? ” 

“I don’t think he has much of a following. Even 
Moriarty, who was his strong card, has gone back on him.” 

“Will you make a couple of speeches for us in this 
ward ? ” 

“ If you’ll let me say what I want ? ” 

“You can support us ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Then we’ll leave it to you. Only beware of making 
too many statements. You’ll get dates and places from 
the committee as soon as they are settled. We pay 
twenty-five dollars a night. If you hit the right key, we 
may want you in some of the other wards, too.” 

“ I shall be glad to talk. It’s what I’ve been doing to 
small crowds in the saloons.” 

“So I’m told. You’ll never get a better place. Men 
listen there, as they never will at a mass-meeting.” 
Costell rose. “If you are free next Sunday, come up into 
Westchester and take a two o’clock dinner with me. We 
won’t talk politics, but you shall see a nice little woman, 
who’s good enough to make my life happier, and after 
we’ve looked over my stables, I’ll bring you back to the 
city behind a gray mare that will pass about anything 
there is on the road. ” 

So Peter had a half day in the country and enjoyed it 
very much.’ He looked over Mrs. Costell’s flower-garden, 
in which she spent almost her whole time, and chatted 
with her about it. He saw the beautiful stables, and 
their still more beautiful occupants. He liked the couple 
very much. Both were simple and silent people, of 
little culture, but it seemed to Peter that the atmosphere 
had a gentle, homely tone that was very pleasing. As he 
got into the light buggy, he said to Mrs. Costell : 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


132 

“ I’ll get the seed of that mottled gillyflower from my 
mother as soon as possible. Perhaps you’ll let me bring 
it up myself?** 

“ Do,** she said. “Come again, whether you get the 
seed or not.** 

After they had started, Mr. Costell said : “ I’m glad 
you asked that. Mrs. Costell doesn’t take kindly to many 
of the men who are in politics with me, but she liked you, 
I could see. ** 

Peter spoke twice in the next week in small halls in his 
ward. He had good audiences, and he spoke well, if 
simply. 

“There ain’t no fireworks in his stuff, ** said the ward 
satirist. “ He don’t unfurl the American flag, nor talk 
about liberty and the constitution. He don’t even 
speak of us as noble freemen. He talks just as if he 
thought we was in a saloon. A feller that made that 
speech about the babies ought to treat us to something 
moving. ” 

That was what many of the ward thought. Still they 
went because they wanted to see if he wouldn’t burst out 
suddenly. They felt that Peter had unlimited potential- 
ities in the way of eloquence (for eloquence to them 
meant the ability to move the emotions) and merely 
saved his powers. Without quite knowing it they found 
what he had to say interesting. He brought the ques- 
tions at issue straight back to elementary forms. He 
showed just how each paragraph in the platform would 
directly affect, not the state, but the “district.” 

“ He’s thoroughly good,” the party leaders were 
told. “If he would abuse the other side a little more, 
and stick in a little tinsel and calcium light he would be 
great. ” 

So he was called upon to speak elsewhere in the city., 
He worked at one of the polls on election day, and was 
pleased to find that he was able to prevent a little of the 
“trading” for which Kennedy had arranged. His ward 
went Democratic, as was a foregone conclusion, but by 
an unusually large majority, and Peter found that he and 
Dennis were given the credit for it, both in the ward, and 
at headquarters. Catlin was elected, and the Assembly 
had been won. So Peter felt that his three months* work 
had not been an entire failure. The proceeds of his 


VARIOUS KINDS OF SOCIETY, 


133 


speeches had added also two hundred and fifty dollars 
to his savings bank account, and one hundred more to 
the account of “ Peter Stirling, Trustee.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

VARIOUS KINDS OF SOCIETY, 

Peter spent Christmas with his mother, and found her 
very much worried over his “ salooning.” 

“ It’s first steps, Peter, that do the mischief,” she told 
him. 

“ But, mother, I only go to talk with the men. Not to 
drink. ” 

“ You'll come to that later. The devil’s paths always 
start straight, my boy, but they end in wickedness. Prom- 
ise me you won’t go any more.” 

“ I can’t do that, mother. I am trying to help the men, 
and you ought not ask me to stop doing what may aid 
others.” 

“ Oh, my boy, my boy ! ” sobbed the mother. 

“ If you could only understand it, mother, as I have 
come to, you wouldn’t mind. Here, the saloon is chiefly 
a loafing place for the lazy and shiftless, but in New York, 
it’s very different. It’s the poor man’s club. If you could 
see the dark, cold, foul-aired tenements where they live, 
and then the bright, warm, cheerful saloons, that are open 
to all, you would see that it isn’t the drink that draws the 
men. I even -wish the women could come. The bulk of 
the men are temperate, and only take a glass or two of 
beer or whisky, to pay for their welcome. They really 
go for the social part, and sit and talk, or read the papers. 
Of course a man gets drunk, sometimes, but usually it is 
not a regular customer, and even such cases would be 
fewer, if we didn’t tax whisky so outrageously that the 
dishonest barkeepers are tempted to doctor their whisky 
with drugs which drive men frantic if they drink. But 
most of the men are too sensible, and too poor, to drink 
so as really to harm themselves.” 

“ Peter, Peter ! To think that three years in New York 
should bring you to talk so 1 I knew New York was a 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


sink-hole of iniquity, but I thought you were too good a 
boy to be misled.” 

“Mother, New York has less evil in it than most 
places. Here, after the mills shut down, there’s no recrea- 
tion for the men, and so they amuse themselves with 
viciousness. But in a great place like New York, there 
are a thousand amusements specially planned for the even- 
ing hours. Exhibitions, theatres, concerts, libraries, lect- 
ures — everything to tempt one away from wrong-doing 
to fine things. And there wickedness is kept out of sight 
as it never is here. In New York you must go to it, 
but in these small places it hunts one out and tempts 
one.” 

“Oh, Peter ! Here, where there’s room in church of a 
Sabbath for all the folks, while they say that in New York 
there isn’t enough seats in churches for mor’n a quarter 
of the people. A missionary was saying only last week 
that we ought to help raise money to build churches in 
New York. Just think of there being mor’n ten saloons 
for every church ! And that my son should speak for 
them and spend nights in them ! ” 

“ I’m sorry it troubles you so. If I felt I had any right 
to stop, I’d do it.” 

“You haven’t drunk in them yet, Peter? ” 

“No.” 

“And you’ll promise to write me if you do.” 

“I’ll promise you I won’t drink in them, mother.” 

“Thank you, Peter.” Still his mother was terrified at 
the mere thought, and at her request, her clergyman spoke 
also to Peter. He was easier to deal with, and after a chat 
with Peter, he told Mrs. Stirling : 

“I think he is doing no harm, and may do much good. 
Let him do what he thinks best.” 

“It’s dreadful though, to have your son’s first refusal 
be about going to saloons,” sighed the mother. 

“From the way he spoke I think his refusal was as hard 
to him as to you. He’s a good boy, and you had better 
let him judge of what’s right.” 

On Peter’s return to the city, he found an invitation from 
Mrs. Bohlmann to come to a holiday festivity of which 
the Germans are so fond. He was too late to go, but he 
called promptly, to explain why he had not responded. 
He was very much surprised, on getting out his dress-suit 


VARIOUS KINDS OF SOCIETY 


*35 

now donned for the first time in three years, to find how 
badly it fitted him. 

“Mother is right/" he had to acknowledge. “I have 
grown much thinner.” 

However, the ill-fit did not spoil his evening. He was 
taken into the family room, and passed a very pleasant 
hour with the jolly brewer, his friendly wife, and the two 
“nice girls.” They were all delighted with Catlin’s elec- 
tion, and Peter had to tell them about his part in it. They 
did not let him go when he rose, but took him into the 
dining-room, where a supper was served at ten. In leav- 
ing a box of candy, saved for him from the Christmas tree, 
was given him. 

“You will come again, Mr. Stirling?” said Mrs. Bohl- 
mann, warmly. 

“ Thank you,” said Peter. “ I shall be very glad to.” 

“Yah,” said Mr. Bohlmann. “You coom choost as 
ofden as you blease.” 

Peter took his dress-suit to a tailor the next day, and 
ordered it to be taken in. That individual protested loudly 
on the ground that the coat was so old-fashioned that it 
would be better to make a new suit. Peter told him that 
he wore evening dress too rarely to make a new suit worth 
the having, and the tailor yielded rather than lose the job. 
Scarcely had it been put in order, when Peter was asked 
to dine at his clergyman’s, and the next day came another 
invitation, to dine with Justice Gallagher. Peter began to 
wonder if he had decided wisely in vamping the old suit. 

He had one of the pleasantest evenings of his life at Dr. 
Purple’s. It was a dinner often, and Peter was conscious 
that a real compliment had been paid him in being in- 
cluded, for the rest of the men were not merely older than 
himself, but they were the “strong” men of the church. 
Two were trustees. All were prominent in the business 
world. And it pleased Peter to find that he was not treated 
as the youngster of the party, but had his opinions asked. 
At one point of the meal the talk drifted to a Bethel church 
then under consideration, and this in turn brought up the 
tenement-house question. Peter had been studying this, 
both practically and in books, for the last three months 
Before long, the whole table was listening to what he 
had to say. When the ladies had withdrawn, there was 
political talk, in which Peter was much more a listener, 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

but it was from preference rather than ignorance. One 
of the men, a wholesale dealer in provisions, spoke of the 
new governor’s recommendation for food legislation. 

“The leaders tell me that the legislature will do some- 
thing about it,” Peter said. 

“They’ll probably make it worse,” said Mr. Avery. 

“ Don’t you think it can be bettered ? " asked Peter. 

“Not by politicians.” 

“I’m studying the subject,” Peter said. “ Will you let 
me come down some day, and talk with you about it ? ” 

“Yes, by all means. You’d better call about lunch 
hour, when I’m free, and we can talk without interruption.” 

Peter would much have preferred to go on discussing 
with the men, when they all joined the ladies, but Mrs. 
Purple took him off, and placed him between two women. 
They wanted to hear about “the case,” so Peter patiently 
went over that well-worn subject. Perhaps he had his 
pay by being asked to call upon both. More probably 
the requests were due to what Mrs. Purple had said of him 
during the smoking time : 

“He seems such a nice, solid, sensible fellow. I wish 
some of you would ask him to call on you. He has no 
friends, apparently.” 

The dinner at Justice Gallagher’s was a horse of a very 
different color. The men did not impress him very highly, 
and the women not at all. There was more to eat and 
drink, and the talk was fast and lively. Peter was very 
silent. So quiet, that Mrs. Gallagher told her “take in” 
that she “guessed that young Stirling wasn’t used to real 
fashionable dinners,” and Peter’s partner quite disregarded 
him for the rattling, breezy talker on her other side. After 
the dinner Peter had a pleasant chat with the Justice’s 
seventeen-year-old daughter, who was just from a Catholic 
convent, and the two tried to talk in French. It is won-< 
derful what rubbish is tolerable if only talked in a foreign 
tongue. 

“ I don’t see what you wanted to have that Stirling for ? ” 
said Honorable Mrs. Justice Gallagher, to him who con- 
ferred that proud title upon her, after the guests had de- 
parted. 

“ You are clever, arn’t you? ” said Gallagher, bitingly. 

“That’s living with you,” retorted the H, M. J., who 
was not easily put down. 


VARIOUS KINDS OF SOCIETY, 


n) 

“ Then you see that you treat Stirling as if he was some- 
body. He’s gettingto be a power in the ward, and if you 
want to remain Mrs. Justice Gallagher and spend eight 
thousand — and pickings — a year, you see that you keep 
him friendly.” 

“Oh, I’ll be friendly, but he’s awful dull.” 

“Oh, no, mamma,” said Monica. “He really isn't 
He’s read a great many more French books than I have.’' 

Peter lunched with the wholesale provision-dealer as 
planned. The lunch hour proving insufficient for the dis- 
cussion, a family dinner, a few days later, served to con- 
tinue it. The dealer’s family were not very enthusiastic 
about Peter. 

“ He knows nothing but grub talk,” grumbled the hen 
apparent, who from the proud altitude of a broker’s office, 
had come to scorn the family trade. 

“He doesn’t know any fashionable people,” said one of 
the girls, who having unfulfilled ambitions concerning 
that class, was doubly interested and influenced by its 
standards and idols. 

“He certainly is not brilliant,” remarked the mother. 

“ Humph,” growled the pater-familias, “that’s the way 
all you women go on. Brilliant ! Fashionable 1 I don’t 
wonder marriage is a failure when I see what you like 
in men. That Stirling is worth all your dancing men, but 
just because he holds his tongue when he hasn’t a sensible 
thing to say, you think he’s no good." 

“ Still he is ‘a nobody.’ ” 

“He’s the fellow who made that big speech in the 
stump-tail milk case.” 

“ Not that man?” 

“ Exactly. But of course he isn’t * brilliant’ ” 

“ I never should have dreamed it" 

“Still,” said the heir, “he keeps his eloquence foff 
cows, and not for dinners.” 

“ He talked very well at Dr. Purple’s,” said the mamma, 
whose opinion of Peter had undergone a change. 

“And he was invited to call by Mrs. Dupont and Mrs. 
Sizer, which is more than you’ve ever been,” said Avery 
senior to Avery junior. 

“That’s because of the prog,” growled the son, seeing 
his opportunity to square accounts quickly. 

Coming out cf church the next Sunday, Peter was laid 


^8 TME HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

hold of by the Bohlmanns and carried off to a mid-day 
dinner, at which were a lot of pleasant Germans, who 
made it very jolly with their kindly humor. He did not 
contribute much to the laughter, but every one seemed to 
think him an addition to the big table. 

Thus it came to pass that late in January Peter dedi- 
cated a week of evenings to “Society/' and nightly don- 
ning his dress suit, called dutifully on Mrs. Dupont, Mrs. 
Sizer, Mrs. Purple, Mrs. Avery, Mrs. Costell, Mrs. Galla- 
gher and Mrs. Bohlmann. Peter was becoming very 
frivolous. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

AN EVENING CALL. 

But Peter’s social gadding did not end with these bread- 
and-butter calls. One afternoon in March, he went into 
the shop of a famous picture-dealer, to look over an exhi- 
bition then advertised, and had nearly finished his patient 
examination of each picture, which always involved quite 
as much mental gymnastics as sesthetic pleasure to Peter, 
when he heard a pleasant : 

“ How do you do, Mr. Stirling? " 

Turning, he found Miss De Voe and a well-dressed man 
at his elbow. Peter’s face lighted up in a way which 
made the lady say to herself: “I wonder why he 
wouldn’t buy another ticket ? ” Aloud she said, “ I want 
you to know another of my cousins. Mr. Ogden, Mr. 
Stirling. " 

“Charmed,” said Mr. Ogden genially. Any expression 
which Peter had thought of using seemed so absolutely 
tame, beside this passive participle, that he merely 
bowed. 

' l did not know you cared for pictures,” said Miss De 
Voe. 

“I see most of the public exhibitions,” Peter told her. 
“ I try to like them.” 

Miss De Voe looked puzzled. 

“ Don’t,” said Mr. Ogden. “ I tried once, when I firs? 
began. But it’s much easier to notice what women say 
and answer ‘yes' and ‘no’ at the right points,” 


AN EVENING CALL. 


m 

Peter looked puzzled. 

“Nonsense, Lispenard," said Miss De Voe. “ He'p 
really one of the best connoisseurs I know, Mr. Stir- 
ling.” 

“There,” said Lispenard. “You see. Only agree 
with people, and they think you know everything.” 

“I suppose you have seen the pictures, and so won't 
care to go round with us? ” inquired Miss De Voe. 

“ Tve looked at them, but I should like to go over again 
with you,” said Peter. Then he added, “ if I shan’t be in 
the way.” 

“Not a bit," said Lispenard heartily. “My cousin 
always wants a listener. It will be a charity to her 
tongue and my ears.” Miss De Voe merely gave him a 
very pleasant smile. “I wonder why he wouldn’t buy a 
ticket ? ” she thought. 

Peter was rather astonished at the way they looked at 
the pictures. They would pass by a dozen without giving 
them a second glance, and then stop at one, and chat 
about it for ten minutes. He found that Miss De Voe 
had not exaggerated her cousin’s art knowledge. He 
talked familiarly and brilliantly, though making constant 
fun of his own opinions, and often jeering at the faults of 
the picture. Miss De Voe also talked well, so Peter really 
did supply the ears for the party. He was very much 
pleased when they both praised a certain picture. 

“I liked that,” he told them, making the first remark 
(not a question) which he had yet made. “ It seemed to 
me the best here.” 

“Unquestionably,” said Lispenard. “There is poetry 
and feeling in it.” 

Miss De Voe said : “ That is not the one I should have 
thought of your liking. ” 

“That’s womanly,” said Lispenard, “they are always 
deciding what a man should like.” 

“ No,” denied Miss De Voe. “But I should think with 
your liking for children, that you would have preferred 
that piece of Brown’s, rather than this sad, desolate sand- 
dune.” 

“I cannot say why I like it, except that I feel a a if it 
had something to do with my own mood at times.” 

“ Are you very lonely ? ” asked Miss De Voe, in a voice 
too low for Lispenard to hear. 


140 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


“Sometimes/’ said Peter, simply. 

“ I wish,” said Miss De Voe, still speaking low, “that 
the next time you feel so you would come and see me/ 

“ I will,” said Peter. 

When they parted at the door, Peter thanked Lispenard: 
I have really learned a good deal, thanks to Miss De 
Voe and you. I’ve seen the pictures with eyes that know 
much more about them than mine do.” 

“Well, we’ll have to have another turn some day. 
We’re always in search of listeners.” 

“If you come and see me, Mr. Stirling,” said Miss De 
Voe, “ you shall see my pictures. Good-bye.” 

“So that is your Democratic heeler? ” said Lispenard, 
eyeing Peter’s retreating figure through the carriage 
window. 

“Don’t call him that, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe, 
wincing. 

Lispenard laughed, and leaned back into a comfortable 
attitude. “ Then that’s your protector of sick kittens ? ” 

Miss De Voe made no reply. She was thinking of that 
dreary wintry stretch of sand and dune. 

Thus it came to pass that a week later, when a north- 
easter had met a south-wester overhead and both in com- 
bination had turned New York streets into a series of 
funnels, in and through which wind, sleet and snow 
fought for possession, to the almost absolute dispossession 
of humanity and horses, that Peter ended a long stare at 
his blank wall by putting on his dress-suit, and plunging 
into the streets. He had, very foolishly, decided to omit 
dinner, a couple of hours before, rather than face the 
storm, and a north-east wind and an empty stomach are 
enough to set any man staring at nothing, if that danger- 
ous inclination is at all habitual. Peter realized this, for 
the opium eater is always keenly alive to the dangers of 
the drug. Usually he fought the tendency bravely, but 
this night he felt too tired to fight himself, and preferred 
to battle with a little thing like a New York storm. So he 
struggled through the deserted streets until he had reached 
his objective point in the broad Second Avenue house. 
Miss De Voe was at home, but was “still at dinner.” 

Peter vacillated, wondering what the correct thing was 
under the circumstances. The footman, remembering 
him of old. and servants in those simple days being still 


AN EVENING CALL 


141 


open to impressions, suggested that he wait. Peter gladly- 
accepted the idea. But he did not wait, for hardly had 
the footman left him than that functionary returned, to tell 
Peter that Miss De Voe would see him in the dining-room. 

“I asked you to come in here, because I’m sure, after 
venturing out such a night, you would like an extra cup 
of coffee,” Miss De Voe explained. “You need not sit 
at the table. Morden, put a chair by the fire.” 

So Peter found himself sitting in front of a big wood* 
fire, drinking a cup of coffee decidedly better in quality 
cha.i his home-brew. Blank walls ceased to have any 
particular value for the time. 

In a moment Miss De Voe joined him at the fire. A 
small table was moved up, and a plate of fruit, and a cup 
of coffee placed upon it. 

“That is all, Morden,” she said. “It is so nice of you 
to have come this evening. I was promising myself a 
very solitary time, and was dawdling over my dinner to 
kill some of it. Isn’t it a dreadful night ? ” 

“ It’s blowing hard. Two or three times I thought I 
should have to give it up. ” 

“You didn’t walk ? ” 

“ Yes. I could have taken a solitary car that passed, 
but the horses were so done up that I thought I was 
better able to walk.” 

Miss De Voe touched the bell. “Another cup of 
coffee, Morden, and bring the cognac,” she said. “I am 
not going to let you please your mother to-night,” she 
told Peter. “ I am going to make you do what I wish.” 
So she poured a liberal portion of the eau-de-vie into 
Peter’s second cup, and he most dutifully drank it. 
“ How funny that he should be so obstinate sometimes, 
and so obedient at others,” thought Miss De Voe. “ I 
don’t generally let men smoke, but I’m going to make an 
exception to-night in your case,” she continued. 

It was a sore temptation to Peter, but he answered 
quickly, “ Thank you for the thought, but I won’t this 
evening. ” 

“ You have smoked after dinner already ? ” 

“No. I tried to keep my pipe lighted in the street 
but it blew and sleeted too hard.’* 

“Then you had better.” 

“Thank you, no.” 


143 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


Miss De Voe thought her former thought again 
“ Where do you generally dine ? ” she asked. 

“ I have no regular place. Just where I happen to be.* 

“ And to-night ? ” 

Peter was not good at dodging. He was silent for a 
moment. Then he said, “ I saw rather a curious thing, 
as I was walking up. Would you like to hear about it ? ” 

Miss De Voe looked at him curiously, but she did not 
seem particularly interested in what Peter had to tell her, 
in response to her “ yes.” It concerned an arrest on the 
streets for drunkenness. 

“I didn't think the fellow was half as drunk as frozen,** 
Peter concluded, “ and I told the policeman it was a 
case for an ambulance rather than a station-house. He 
didn't agree, so I had to go with them both to the precinct 
and speak to the superintendent.” 

“ That was before your dinner ? ” asked Miss De Voe, 
calmly. 

It was a very easily answered question, apparently, 
but Peter was silent again. 

“ It was coming up here,” he said finally. 

“ What is he trying to keep back ? ” asked Miss De Voe 
mentally. “ I suppose some of the down-town places 
are not quite — but he wouldn’t — ” then she said out loud : 
“ I wonder if you men do as women do, when they 
dine alone? Just live on slops. Now, what did you 
order to-night ? Were you an ascetic or a sybarite ? ” 

“Usually,” said Peter, “I eat a very simple dinner.” 

“And to-night ? ” 

“ Why do you want to know about to-day ? ** 

“ Because I wish to learn where you dined, and thought 
l could form some conclusion from your menu.” Miss 
De Voe laughed, so as to make it appear a joke, but she 
knew very well that she was misbehaving. 

“ I didn’t reply to your question,” said Peter, “because 
I would have preferred not. But if you really wish to 
know, I’ll answer it.” 

“Yes. I should like to know.” Miss De Voe still 
smiled. 

“ I haven’t dined.” 

“ Mr. Stirling ! You are joking ? ” Miss De Voe’s smile 
had ended, and she was sitting up very straight in her 
chair. Women will do without eating for an indefinite 


AN EVENING CALL. 


*43 


period, and think nothing of it, but the thought of a hungry 
man fills them with horror — unless they hatfe the where- 
withal to mitigate the consequent appetite. Hunger with 
woman, as regards herself, is “ a theory.” As regards a 
man it is “a condition.” 

“ No/ said Peter. 

Miss De Voe touched the bell again, but quickly as 
Morden answered it, Peter was already speaking. 

“ You are not to trouble yourself on my account, Miss 
Pe Voe. I wish for nothing.” 

“You must have ■” 

Peter was rude enough to interrupt with the word 
" Nothing.” 

4 ‘ But I shall not have a moment’s pleasure in your call 
if I think of you as " 

Peter interrupted again. * * If that is so, ” he said, rising, 
“ I had better go. ” 

“No,” cried Mis3 De Voe. “Oh, won’t you please? 
It’s no trouble. I’ll not order much.” 

“ Nothing, thank you,” said Peter. 

“ Just a chop or ” 

Peter held out his hand. 

“ No, no. Sit down. Of course you are to do as 

you please. But I should be so happy if ? ” and Miss 

De Voe looked at Peter appealingly. 

“No. Thank you.” 

“ Nothing, Morden.” They sat down again. “Why, 
didn’t you dine ? ” asked Miss De Voe. 

“ I didn’t care to face the storm.” 

“ Yet you came out ?” 

“ Yes. I got blue, and thought it foolish to stay in- 
doors by myself." 

“ I'm very glad you came here. It’s a great compliment 
to find an evening with me put above dinner. You know 
I had the feeling that you didn’t like me.” 

“ I’m sorry for that It’s not so.” 

“ If not, why did you insist on my twice asking you to 
call on me?” 

“ I did not want to call on you without being sure that 
you really wished to have me. ” 

“ Then why wouldn’t you stay and dine at Saratoga ? * 

“ Because my ticket wouldn’t have been good.” 

“ But a new ticket would only cost seven dollars.” 


144 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ In my neighborhood, we don't say * only seven 
dollars. ' " 

“ But you don’t need to think of seven dollars." 

“ I do. I never have spent seven dollars on a dinnei 
in my life.” 

“But you should have, this time, after making seven 
hundred and fifty dollars in one month. I know men 
who would give that amount to dine with me.” It was a 
foolish brag, but Miss De Voe felt that her usual means 
of inspiring respect were not working, — not even real- 
ized. 

“Very likely. But I can't afford such luxuries. I had 
spent more than usual and had to be careful.” 

“Then it was economy?” 

“Yes.” 

“I had no idea my dinner invitations would ever be 
held in so little respect that a man would decline one to 
9ave seven dollars.” Miss De Voe was hurt. “I had 
given him five hundred dollars,” she told herself, “and 
he ought to have been willing to spend such a small 
amount of it to please me.” Then she said : “A great 
many people economize in foolish ways.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Petei. “ I'm sorry if I dis- 
appointed you. I really didn't think I ought to spend the 
money. ” 

“ Never mind,” said Miss De Voe. “ Were you 
pleased with the nomination and election of Catlin ? ” 

“ I was pleased at the election, but I should have pre- 
ferred Porter.” 

“ I thought you tried to prevent Porter’s nomination?” 

“ That’s what the papers said, but they didn’t under- 
stand.” 

“ I wasn’t thinking of the papers. You know I heard 
your speech in the convention.” 

“ A great many people seem to have misunderstood 
me. I tried to make it clear.” 

“ Did you intend that the convention should laugh ? ” 

“ No. That surprised and grlev d me very much 1 ” 

Miss De Voe g-athered from this and from what the 
papers had said that it must be a mortifying subject to 
Peter, and knew that she ought to disccntinue it. But 
she could not help saying, “ Why ? ” 

“ It’s difficult to explain, I’m afraid. I had a feeling 


AN EVENING CALL. 


*45 

that a man was trying to do wrong, but I hoped that 
I was mistaken. It seemed to me that circumstances 
compelled me to tell the convention all about it, but I 
was very careful not to hint at my suspicion. Yet the 
moment I told them they laughed/' 

“Why?" 

‘‘Because they felt sure that the man had done wrong.” 

“ Oh ! ” It was a small exclamation, but the expression 
Miss De Voe put into it gave it a big meaning. “Then 
they were laughing at Maguire? ” 

“ At the time they were. Really, though, they were 
laughing at human weakness. Most people seem to find 
that amusing.” 

“ And that is why you were grieved ? ” 

" Yes.” 

“ But why did the papers treat you so badly ? ” 

“ Mr. Costell tells me that I told too much truth for 
people to understand. I ought to have said nothing, or 
charged a bargain right out, for then they would have 
understood. A friend of — a fellow I used to know, said 
I was the best chap for bungling he ever knew, and I'm 
afraid it’s true.” 

“ Do you know Costell ? I thought he was such a dis* 
honest politician ? ” 

“ I know Mr. Costell. I haven't met the dishonest 
politician yet.” 

“ You mean ? ” 

** He hasn't shown me the side the papers talk about.” 

** And when he does ? ” 

“ I shall be very sorry, for I like him, and I like his wife.” 
rhen Peter told about the little woman who hated politics 
and loved flowers, and about the cool, able manager of 
men, who could not restrain himself from putting his 
arms about the necks of his favorite horses, and who had 
told about the death of one of his mares with tears in his 
eyes. “ He had his cheek cut open by a kick from one 
of his horses once, and he speaks of it just as we would 
speak of some unintentional fault of a child.” 

“ Has he a great scar on his cheek? ” 

“Yes. Have you seen him ? ” 

* ‘ Once. Just as we were coming out of the convention. 
He said something about you to a group of men which 
called my attention to him.” Miss De Voe thoughv 


146 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Peter would ask her what it was. “ Would you like to 
know what he said ? ” she asked, when Peter failed to 
do so. 

“ I think he would have said it to me, if he wished me 
to hear it. ” 

Miss De Voe's mind reverted to her criticism of Peter. 
“He is so absolutely without our standards/' Her chair 
suddenly ceased to be comfortable. She rose, saying, 
“ Let us go to the library. I shall not show you my pict- 
ures now. The gallery is too big to be pleasant such a 
night. You must come again for that. Won't you tell 
me about some of the other men you are meeting in 
politics?” she asked when they had sat down before 
another open fire. “ It seems as if all the people I know 
are just alike — I suppose it’s because we are all so con- 
ventional — and I am very much interested in hearing 
about other kinds. ” 

So Peter told about Dennis and Blunkers, and the 
“ b’ys " in the saloons ; about Green and his fellow dele- 
gates ; about the Honorable Mr., Mrs., and Miss Gal- 
lagher, and their dinner companions. He did not satirize 
in the least. He merely told various incidents and con- 
versations, in a sober, serious way ; but Miss De Voe was 
quietly amused by much of the narrative and said to her- 
self, “I think he has humor, but is too serious-minded to 
yield to it.” She must have enjoyed his talk for she 
would not let Peter go early, and he was still too ig- 
norant of social usages to know how to get away, 
whether a woman wished or no. Finally he insisted that 
he must leave when the clock pointed dangerously near 
eleven. 

“ Mr. Stirling,” said Miss De Voe, in a doubtful, “ won’t- 
you-please ” voice, such as few men had ever heard from 
her, “I want you to let me send you home? It will only 
Itake a moment to have the carriage here. ” 

“I wouldn't take a horse out in such weather,” said 
Peter, in a very settling kind of voice. 

“ He's obstinate,” thought Miss De Voe. “And he makes 
his obstinacy so dreadfully — dreadfully pronounced t ’* 
Aloud she said : “You will come again ? ” 

“If you will let me.” 

“Do. I am very much alone too, as perhaps you 
know ? ” Miss De Voe did not choose to say that her 


A DINNER. 


14 ? 

rooms could be filled nightly and that everywhere she 
was welcome. 

“No. I really know nothing about you, except what 
you have told me, and what I have seen.” 

Miss De Voe laughed merrily at Peter’s frankness. “ I 
feel as if I knew all about you,” she said. 

“ But you have asked questions,” replied Peter. 

Miss De Voe caught her breath again. Try as she 
would, she could not get accustomed to Peter. All her 
social experience failed to bridge the chasm opened by 
his speech. “What did he mean by that plain statement, 
spoken in such a matter-of-fact voice ? ” she asked her- 
self. Of course the pause could not continue indefinite- 
ly, and she finally said : “I have lived alone ever since 
my father’s death. I have relatives, but prefer to stay 
here. I am so much more independent. I suppose I 
shall have to move some day. This part of the city is 
beginning to change so.” Miss De, Voe was merely 
talking against time, and was not sorry when Peter 
shook hands, and left her alone. 

“ He’s very different from most men,” she said to the 
blazing logs. “ He is so uncomplimentary and out- 
spoken ! How can he succeed in politics? Still, after 
the conventional society man he is — he is — very refresh- 
ing. I think I must help him a little socially.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A DINNER. 

The last remark made by Miss De Voe to her fire re- 
sulted, after a few days, in Peter’s receiving a formal dinner 
invitation, which he accepted with a promptness not to be 
surpassed by the best-bred diner-out. He regretted now 
his vamping of the old suit. Peter understood that he 
was in for quite another affair than the Avery, the Gal- 
lagher, or even the Purple dinner. He did not worry, 
however, and if in the dressing-room he looked furtively 
at the coats of the other men, he entirely forgot the sub- 
ject the moment he started downstairs, and thought no 


I 4 8 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

further of it till he came to take off the suit in his own 
room. 

When Peter entered the drawing-room, he found it well 
filled with young people, and for a moment a little of the 
bewildered feeling of four years before came over him. 
But he found himself chatting with Miss De Voe, and the 
feeling left him as quickly as it had come. In a moment 
he was introduced to a “ Miss Lenox,” who began talking 
in an easy way which gave Peter just as much or as little 
to say as he chose. Peter wondered if many girls were 
as easy to talk to as — as — Miss Lenox. 

He took Miss De Voe in, and found Dorothy Ogden 
sitting on his other side. He had barely exchanged 
greetings with her, when he heard his name spoken from 
across the table, and looking up, he found Miss Leroy 
sitting opposite. 

44 I hope you haven't entirely forgotten me,” that girl 
said, the moment his attention was caught. 

“Not at all,” said Peter. 

44 Nor my dress,” laughed Miss Leroy. 

44 1 remember the style, material, and train.” 

44 Especially the train I am sure.” 

44 Do explain these mysterious remarks,” said Dorothy. 

44 Mr. Stirling and I officiated at a wedding, and I was 
in such mortal terror lest some usher should step on my 
gown, that it became a joke.” 

44 Whose wedding was that? ” asked Miss De Voe. 

44 Miss Pierce's and Watts D’AHoi’s,” said the bridesmaid. 

44 Do you know Watts D'Alloi ? ” exclaimed Miss De Voe 
to Peter. 

44 Yes.” 

44 Indeed! When?” 

4 4 At college.” 

4 4 Are you a Harvard man?” 

44 Yes. ” 

44 You were Mr. D’Alloi'schnm, weren't you ? ” said Misv 
Leroy. 

44 Yes.” 

44 Watts D'Alloi ? ” again exclaimed Miss De Voe. 

44 Yes.” 

44 But he's a mere boy.” 

44 He's two years my senior/ 

44 You don’t mean it ? " 


A DINNER. 


< 4 * 


“Yes." 

“I thought you were over thirty." 

“ Most people do.” 

Miss De Voe said to herself, “ I don’t know as much 
about him as I thought I did. He may be very frank, 
but he doesn’t tell all one thinks. Now I know where he 
gets his nice manner. I ought to have recognized the 
.Harvard finish.” 

s 4 ‘When did you last hear from the D’Allois?” asked 
Miss Leroy. 

“Not since they sailed,” said Peter, wincing internally. 

“Not really?” said the bridesmaid. “Surely you’ve 
heard of the baby ? ” 

“No.” Lines were coming into Peter’s face which Miss 
De Voe had never before seen. 

“ How strange. The letters must have gone astray. 
But you have written him ? ” 

“I did not know his address.” 

“Then you really haven’t heard of the little baby — why, 
it was born two — no, three years ago — and of Helen’s 
long ill-health, and of their taking a villa on the Riviera, 
and of how they hope to come home this spring ? ” 

“Yes. They will sail in June if Helen is well enough. 
I’m to be god-mother.” 

“If you were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, you must have known 
Ray Rivington,” said Dorothy. 

“Yes. But I’ve not seen him since we graduated. He 
went out West.” 

“ He has just returned. Ranching is not to his taste.” 

“Will you, if you see him, say that I’m in New York 
and should like to run across him ? ” 

“ I will. He and Laurence — my second brother — are 
old cronies, and he often drops in on us. I want you to 
know my brothers. They are both here this evening.” 

“ I hr> ve met the elder one, I suppose. ” 

“No. That was a cousin, Lispenard Ogden. He 
spoke of meeting you. You would be amused to hear 
his comment about you.” 

“Mr. Stirling doesn’t like to have speeches repeated to 
him, Dorothy/’ said Miss De Voe. 

“What do you mean?” asked Dorothy, looking from 
one to the other. 


150 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING , . 

“He snubbed me the other evening when I tried to 
tell him what we heard, coming out of the convention 
last autumn,” explained Miss De Voe, smiling slightly 
at the thought of treating Peter with a dose of his own 
medicine. 

Peter looked at Miss De Voe. “ I hope you don’t mean 
ihat ? ” 

“ How else could I take it? ” 

“You asked me if I wished something, and I merely 
declined, I think.” 

“Oh, no. You reproved me." 

“I’m very sorry if I did. I’m always blundering.” 

“Tell us what Lispenard said, Dorothy. I’m curious 
myself. ” 

“ May I, Mr. Stirling? " 

“ I would rather not,” said Peter. 

And Dorothy did not tell him, but in the drawing-room 
she told Miss De Voe : 

“ He said that except his professor of archaeology at 
Heidelberg, Mr. Stirling was the nicest old dullard he’d ever 
met, and that he must be a very good chap to smoke with." 

“He said that, Dorothy?” exclaimed Miss De Voe, 
contemptuously. 

“ Yes.” 

“How ridiculous,” said Miss De Voe. “Lispenard’s 
always trying to hit things off in epigrams, and sometimes 
he’s very foolish.” Then she turned to Miss Leroy. 
“It was very nice, your knowing Mr. Stirling.” 

“I only met him that once. But he’s the kind of man 
somehow that you remember. It’s curious I’ve never 
heard of him since then.” 

“You know he’s the man who made that splendid 
speech when the poor children were poisoned summer 
before last.” 

“ I can’t believe it ! ” 

“It’s so. That is the way I came to know him.” 

Miss Leroy laughed. “ And Helen said he was a man 
who needed help in talking ! ” 

“ Was Mrs. D’Alloi a great friend of his ? ” 

“ No. She told me that Watts had brought him to see 
them only once. I don’t think Mr. Pierce liked him.” 

“He evidently was very much hurt at Watts’s not writ- 
ing him. " 


A DINNER. 


* 5 * 

“Yea I was really sorry I spoke, when I saw how he 
took it.” 

“Watts is a nice boy, but he always was thought 
less. ” 

In passing out of the dining-room, Dorothy had spoken 
to a man for a moment, and he at once joined Peter. 

“You know my sister, Miss Ogden, who’s the best 
representative of us,” he said. “ Now I’ll show you the 
worst. I don’t know whether she exploited her brother 
Ogden to you ? ” 

“Yes. She talked about you and your brother this 
evening.” 

“Trust her to stand by her family. There’s more 
loyalty in her than there was in the army of the Potomac. 
My cousin Lispenard says it’s wrecking his nervous 
system to live up to the reputation she makes for him. ” 

“I never had a sister, but it must be rather a good 
thing to live up to.” 

“Yes. And to live with. Especially other fellows* 
sisters. ** 

* ‘ Are you ready to part with yours for that purpose ? ** 

“No. That’s asking too much. By the way, I think 
we are in the same work. I’m in the office of Jarvis, 
Redburn and Saltus.” 

“I’m trying it by myself.” 

“You’ve been very lucky.” 

“Yes. I’ve succeeded much better than I hoped for. 
But I’ve had very few clients.” 

“ Fortunately it doesn’t take many. Two or three 
rich steady clients will keep a fellow running. I know a 
man who’s only got one, but he runs him for all he’s 
worth, and gets a pretty good living out of him.” 

“ My clients haven’t been of that sort.” Peter smiled a 
little at the thought of making a steady living out of the 
Blacketts, Dooleys or Milligans. 

“ It’s all a matter of friends.” 

Peter had a different theory, but he did not say so. Just 
at that point they were joined by Laurence Ogden, who 
was duly introduced, and in a momeiit the conversation 
at their end of the table became general. Peter listened, 
enjoying his Havana. 

When they joined the ladies, they found Lispenard 
Ogrden there, and he intercepted Peter. 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


IS* 

“Look here,” he said. “A friend of mine has just 
come back from Europe, with a lot of prints. He’s a 
fellow who thinks he has discrimination, and he wants 
me to come up and look them over to-morrow evening. 
He hopes to have his own taste approved and flattered. 
I'm not a bit good at that, with men. Won’t you go with 
me, and help me lie ?” 

“Of course I should like to." 

“All right. Dine with me at six at the Union Club.” 

“ I’m not going to let you talk to each other, ’’said Miss 
De Voe. “ Lispenard, go and talk with Miss McDougal.” 

“See how quickly lying brings its own punishment,” 
laughed Lispenard, walking away. 

“What does he mean ? ” asked Miss De Voe. 

“ The opposite of what he says, I think,” said Peter. 

“ That is a very good description of Lispenard. Almost 
good enough to have been said by himself. If you don't 
mind, I'll tell him.” 

“No.” 

“Do tell me, Mr. Stirling, how you and Watts D’Alloi 
ceme to room together ? ” 

“ He asked me.” 

“Yes. But what ever made him do that? ” 

“I've often wondered myself.” 

“ I can easily understand his asking you, but what first 
threw you together ? ” 

“A college scrape.” 

“Were you in a college scrape?” 

“Yes. I was up before the faculty twice.” 

“Do tell me what you had done?” 

“I was charged with stealing the chapel Bible, and 
with painting a front door of one of the professors.” 

“And had you done these things ? " 

“No.” 

The guests began to say good-night, so the dialogue 
was interrupted. When it came Peter’s turn to go, Miss 
De Voe said : 

“I hope you will not again refuse my dinner in* 
vitations. ” 

“I have had a very pleasant evening,” said Peter. 
“But I had a pleasanter one, the other night.” 

“ Good-evening,” said Miss De Voe mechanically. She 
was really thinking “What a very nice speech. He 


A DINNER . . 


*53 

couldn't have meant anything by his remark about the 
questions.’' 

Peter dined the next evening with Lispenard, who in 
the course of the meal turned the conversation to Miss De 
Voe. Lispenard was curious to learn just what Peter 
knew of her. 

“ She's a great swell, of course,” he said incidentally. 

“I suppose so. I really know nothing about her, bui 
the moment I saw her I felt that she was different from 
any other woman I had ever met. ” 

“ But you've found out about her since? ” 

“No. I was tempted to question Dr. Purple, but I 
didn't like to ask about a friend.'' 

Lispenard laughed. “ You've got a pretty bad case of 
conscience, I’m afraid. It's a poor thing to have in New 
York, too. Well, my cousin is one of the richest, best 
bom women in this country, though I say it. You can’t 
do better than cultivate her.” 

“ Is that what you do ? ” 

“No. You have me there. She doesn’t approve of 
me at all. You see, women in this country expect a man 
to be serious and work. I can’t do either. I suppose its 
my foreign education. She likes my company, and finds 
my escortage very convenient. But while she thinks I'm 
a pretty good companion, she is sure I’m a poor sort of a 
man. If she takes a shine to you, make the most of it. 
She can give you anything she pleases socially. ” 

“I suppose you have anything you please socially?” 

“ Pretty much.” 

“And would you advise me to spend time to get 

it?" 

“Um. I wouldn’t give the toss of a copper for it — but 
I can have it. It’s not being able to have it that’s the 
bad thing.” 

“So I have found,” said Peter gravely. 

Lispenard laughed heartily, as he sipped his “Court 
France.” “ I wish,” he said, “that a lot of people, whose 
lives are given to nothing else, could have heard you say 
that, in that tone of voice. You don't spell Society with 
a capital, do you ? ” 

“Possibly,” said Peter, “ if I had more capital, I should 
use some on society.” 

“Good,” said Lispenard. “ Heavens,” he said to him* 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


* 5 * 

self, “he’s made a joke! Cousin Anneke will nevei 
believe it. ' 

He told her the next day, and his statement proved 
correct. 

“I know you made the joke,” she said. “ He didn’t/* 

“And why shouldn’t he joke as well as I ? ” 

“It doesn’t suit him.” 

“Why not ? ” 

“ Parlor tricks are all right in a lap-dog, hut they only 
belittle a mastiff.” 

Lispenard laughed good-naturedly. He was used to 
his cousin’s hits at his do-nothingness, and rather enjoyed 
them. “He is a big beast, isn’t he? But he’s a nice 
fellow. We had such a good time over Le Grand’s etch- 
ings last night. Didn’t get away till after one. It’s really 
a pleasure to find a man who can smoke and keep quiet, 
and yet enjoy things strongly. Le Grand was taken with 
him too. We just fitted each other.” 

“I’m glad you took him. I’m going to give him some 
society.” 

“Did you ever hear the story of Dr. Brown ? ” 

“No. What is it?” 

“A certain widow announced to her son that she was 
to marry Dr. Brown. * Bully for you, Ma,' said the son, 

‘ Does Dr. Brown know it ? ’ ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

Lispenard laughed. “ Does Stirling know it ? Because 
I advise you to tell him before you decide to do anything 
with him. He’s not easy to drive.” 

“Of course he’ll be glad to meet nice people.” 

“Try him.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“I mean that Peter Stirling won’t give a raparee for all 
die society you can give him. ” 

“You don’t know what you are talking about.” 

But Lispenard was right. Peter had enjoyed the dinnei 
at Miss De Voe’s and the evening at Mr. Le Grand’s. 
Yet each night on reaching his rooms, he had sat long 
hours in his straight office chair, in the dark. He was 
thinking of what Miss Leroy had told him of — of— 
He was not thinking of “Society.” 


*WMM/SS/OW$. 


w 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

COMMISSIONS. 

Peter made his dinner call at Miss De Voe’s, but did 
dot find her at home. He received a very pleasant letter 
expressing her regret at missing him, and a request io 
lunch with her two days later, and to go with some 
friends to an afternoon piano recital, “if you care for 
music. If not, merely lunch with us.” Peter replied that 
he was very sorry, but business called him to Albany on 
that day. 

“I really regret it,” said Miss De Voe to Dorothy. 
“ It is getting so late in the season, that unless he makes 
his call quickly, I shall hardly be able to give him more 
than one other chance.” 

Peter’s business in Albany had been sprung on him 
suddenly. It was neither more nor less than a request 
sent verbally through Costell from Governor Catlin, to 
come up and see him. 

“ It’s about the food and tenement commission bills," 1 
Costell told him. “They’ll be passed by the Senate 
to-day or to-morrow, and be in Catlin’s hands.” 

“I hope he’ll make good appointments,” said Peter, 
anxiously. 

“ I think he will,” said Costell, smiling quietly. “ But 
I don’t believe they will be able to do much. Commis- 
sions are commonly a way of staving off legislation.” 

Peter went up to Albany and saw Catlin. Much to his 
surprise he found the Governor asking his advice about 
the bills and the personnel of the commissions. But after 
a few minutes he found that this seeking for aid and sup- 
port in all matters was chronic, and meant nothing 
special in his own case. 

“Mr. Schlurger tells me, though he introduced the 
bills, that you drafted both. Do you think I had better 
sign them ? ” 

“Yea ” 


156 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“Mr. Costell told me to take your advice. You really 
think I had better? ” 

“Yes.” 

The Governor evidently found something solacing in 
the firm voice in which Peter spoke his “ yes.” He drew 
two papers towards him. 

“You really think I had better? ” 

“Yes.” 

The Governor dipped his pen in the ink, but hesitated, 

“The amendments haven’t hurt them ? ” he queried. 

“Not much.” 

“ But they have been hurt ? ” 

“They have been made better in some ways.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” 

Still the Governor hesitated, but finally began a big G. 
Having committed himself, he wrote the rest rapidly. 
He paused for a moment over the second bill, and 
fingered it nervously. Then he signed it quickly. 1 ‘ That’s 
done.” He shoved them both away much as if they were 
dangerous. 

“I wonder,” thought Peter, “if he enjoys politics?” 

“There’s been a great deal of trouble about the com- 
missioners,” said the Governor. 

“ I suppose so,” said Peter. 

“Even now, I can’t decide. The leaders all want 
different men.” 

“The decision rests with you.” 

“ That’s the trouble,” sighed the Governor. “If only 
they’d agree.” 

“You should make your own choice. You will be held 
responsible if the appointments are bad.” 

“ I know I shall. Just look over those lists, and see if 
you think they’ll do ? ” 

Peter took the si ps of paper and read them. 

“ I needn’t say I'm pleased to see my name,” he said. 
“ I had no idea you would think of me.” 

“That was done by Costell,” said the Governor, hasten- 
ing to shift the responsibility. 

“ I really don’t know any of the rest well enough to 
express an opinion. Personally, I should like to see some 
scientific men on each commission.” 

“ Scientific ! But we have none in politics.” 


COMMISSIONS. 


iS7 


** No ? But this isn't politics. n 

“ I hoped you'd think these lists right.” 

“I think they are good. And the bills give us the 
power to take evidence ; perhaps we can get the scientific 
part that way. ” 

Peter did his best to brace Catlin up ; and his talk or 
other pressure seemed to have partially galvanized the 
backbone of that limp individual, for a week later the 
papers announced the naming of the two commissions. 
The lists had been changed, however. That on food con- 
sisted of Green, a wholesale grocer, and a member of the 
Health Board. Peter s name had been dropped. That on 
tenements, of five members, was made up of Peter; a 
very large property-owner in New York, who was a mem- 
ber as well of the Assembly ; a professional labor agita- 
tor ; a well-known politician of the better type, and a 
public contractor. Peter, who had been studying some 
reports of a British Royal Commission on the same sub- 
ject, looked grave, thinking that what the trained men in 
England had failed in doing, he could hardly hope to ac- 
complish with such ill-assorted instruments. The papers 
were rather down on the lists. “The appointments have 
destroyed any chance of possible benefit,’’ was their gen- 
eral conclusion, and Peter feared they were right. 

Costell laughed when Peter spoke of the commissions. 
“ If you want Catlin to do anything well, you’ve got to 
stand over him till it’s done. I wanted you on both com- 
missions, so that you could see how useless they all are, 
and not blame us politicians for failing in our duty. 
Green promises to get you appointed Secretary of the 
Food Commission, which is the next best thing, and will 
give you a good salary for a time.” 

The Tenement Commission met with little delay, and 
Peter had a chance to examine its motley members. The 
big landlord was a great swell, who had political am- 
bitions, but was too exclusive, and too much of a dilet- 
tante to be a real force. Peter took a prejudice against 
him before meeting him, for he knew just how his 
election to the Assembly had been obtained — even the 
size of the check — and Peter thought buying an election 
was not a very creditable business. He did not like what 
he knew of the labor agitator, for such of the latter’s utter- 
ances and opinions as he had read seemed to be the cheap- 


158 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

est kind of demagogism. The politician he had met and 
liked. Of the contractor he knew nothing. 

The Commission organized by electing the politician as 
chairman. Then the naming of a secretary was dis- 
cussed, each member but Peter having a candidate. Much 
to Peter’s surprise, the landlord, Mr. Pell, named Ray 
Rivington. 

“ I thought he was studying law? ” Peter said. 

“ He is,” said Pell. “ But he can easily arrange to get 
off for the few hours we shall meet a week, and the five 
dollars a day will be a very nice addition to his income. 
Do you know him ? ” 

“We were in college together. I thought he was rich.” 

“ No. He’s of good family, but the Rivingtons are 
growing poorer every year. They try to live on their 
traditions, and traditions don’t pay grocers. I hope you’ll 
help him. He’s a very decent fellow.” 

“ I shall vote for him,” replied Peter, marvelling that 
he should be able to give a lift to the man who, in the 
Harvard days, had seemed so thoroughly the mate of 
Watts and the other rich fellows of the “ gang.” Riving- 
ton being the only candidate who had two votes, he was 
promptly selected. 

Thirty arduous minutes were spent in waiting for the 
arrival of the fifth member of the Commission, and in the 
election of chairman and secretary. A motion was then 
made to adjourn, on the ground that the Commission 
could not proceed without the secretary. 

Peter promptly objected. He had been named secre- 
tary for this particular meeting, and offered to act until 
Rivington could be notified. “I think,” he said, “that 
we ought to lay out our programme.” 

The labor agitator agreed with him, and, rising, deliv- 
ered an extempore speech, declaring that “we must not 
delay. The leeches (here he looked at Mr. Pell) are suck- 
ing the life-blood of the people,” etc. 

The chairman started to call him to order, but Peter 
put his hand on the chairman’s arm. “ If you stop him,” 
he said in a low voice, “ he’ll think we are against him, 
and he’ll say so outside.” 

“ But it’s such foolishness.” 

‘ ‘ And so harmless ! While he’s talking, look over this . " 
Peter produced an outline of action which he had draw** 


COMMISSION’S. 


*59 

up, and having written it in duplicate, he passed one draft 
over to Mr. Pell. 

They all let the speech go on, Peter, Mr. Pell and the 
chairman chatting over the plan, while the contractor 
went to sleep. The agitator tried to continue, but as the 
inattention became more and more evident, his speech 
became tamer and tamer. Finally he said, “ That is my 
opinion,” and sat down. 

The cessation of the oration waked up the contractor, 
and Peter’s outline was read aloud. 

“I don’t move its adoption,” said Peter. “I merely 
submit it as a basis.” 

Not one of the members had come prepared with knowl- 
edge of how to go to work, except the chairman, who 
had served on other commissions. He said : 

“I think Mr. Stirling’s scheme shows very careful 
thought, and is admirable. We cannot do better than 
adopt it. ” 

“It is chiefly copied from the German committee of 
three years ago,” Peter told them. “ But I have tried to 
modify it to suit the different conditions. ” 

Mr. Pell objected to the proposed frequent sittings. 
Thereupon the agitator praised that feature. The hour of 
meeting caused discussion. But finally the scheme was 
adopted, and the date of the first session fixed. 

Peter went downstairs with Mr. Pell, and the latter of- 
fered to drop him at his office. So they drove off together, 
and talked about the Commission. 

“That Kurfeldt is going to be a nuisance,” said Pell. 

“I can’t say yet. He evidently has no idea of what 
our aim is. Perhaps, though, when we really get to 
work, he’ll prove useful.” 

Peter had a call the next day from Rivington. It was 
made up of thanks, of college chat, and of inquiry as to 
duties. Peter outlined the preliminary work, drafted the 
“ Inquiries ” and other printed papers necessary to be sent 
out before the first meeting, and told him about the pro- 
cedure at the meetings. 

“I know I shall get into all kinds of pickles,” said Ray. 
“I write such a bad hand that often I can’t read it my- 
self. How the deuce am I to take down evidence ? ” 

“I shall make notes for my own use, and you will be 
welcome to them, if they will help you.” 


l6c THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“Thanks, Peter. That's like you. ” 

The Commission began its inquiry, on the date fixed, 
and met three times a week from that time on. Peter did 
not try to push himself forward, but he was by far the best 
prepared on the subject, and was able to suggest the best 
sources of information. He asked good questions, too, 
of the various witnesses summoned. Finally he was the 
one regular attendant, and therefore was the one appealed 
to for information elicited at previous meetings. He 
found the politician his best helper. Pell was useful when 
he attended, which was not very often, and even this 
intermittent attendance ceased in June. “I'm going to 
Newport,’' he explained, and did not appear again till late 
in the fall. The contractor really took no part in the pro- 
ceedings beyond a fairly frequent attendance, and an oc- 
casional fit of attention whenever the inquiry related to 
building. The labor-agitator proved quite a good man. 
He had, it is true, no memory, and caused them to waste 
much time in reading over the minutes of previous meet- 
ings. But he was in earnest, and proved to be perfectly 
reasonable as soon as he found that the commissioners' 
duties were to inquire and not to make speeches. Peter 
walked home with him several times, and they spent 
evenings together in Peter’s rooms, talking over the evi- 
dence, and the possibilities. 

Peter met a great many different men in the course of 
the inquiry ; landlords* real-estate agents, architects, en- 
gineers, builders, plumbers, health officials, doctors and 
tenants. In many cases he went to see these persons after 
they had been before the Commission, and talked with 
them, finding that they were quite willing to give facts 
in private which they did not care to have put on record. 

He had been appointed the Secretary of the Food Com- 
mission, and spent much time on that work. He was 
glad to find that he had considerable influence, and that 
Green not merely acted on his suggestions, but encouraged 
him to make them. The two inquiries were so germane 
that they helped him reciprocally. No reports were 
needed till the next meeting of the Legislature, in the 
following January, and so the two commissions took 
enough evidence to swamp them. Poor Ray was reduced 
almost to despair over the mass of “rubbish" as he called 
it, which he would subsequently have to put in order. 


IN THE MEANTIME. 


161 

Between the two tasks, Peter's time was well-nigh used 
up. It was especially drawn upon when the taking of 
evidence ceased and the drafting of the reports began. 
Ray’s notes proved hopeless, so Peter copied out his neatly, 
and let Ray have them, rather glad that irrelevant and use- 
less evidence was thus omitted. It was left to Peter to 
draw the report, and when his draft was submitted, it was 
accompanied by a proposed General Tenement-house Bill. 
Both report and bill were slightly amended, but not in a 
way that Peter minded. 

Petei drew the Food-Commission report as well, although 
it went before the Commission as Green’s. To this, too, 
a proposed bill was attached, which had undergone the 
scrutiny of the Health Board, and had been conformed to 
their suggestions. 

In November Peter carried both reports to Albany, and 
had a long talk with Catlin over them. That official 
would have preferred no reports, but since they were 
made, there was nothing to do but to submit them to the 
Legislature. Peter did not get much encouragement from 
him about the chances for the bills. But Costell told him 
that they could be “whipped through. The only danger 
is of their being amended so as to spoil them.” 

“ Well,” said Peter, “ I hope they will be passed. I’ve 
done my best, whatever happens.” 

A very satisfactory thing to be able to say of yourself 
if you believe in your own truthfulness. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

IN THE MEANTIME. 

In spite of nine months’ hard work on the two Com- 
missions, it is not to be supposed that Peter’s time was 
thus entirely monopolized. If one spends but seven hours 
of the twenty-four in sleep, and but two more on meals, 
there is considerable remaining time, and even so slow a 
worker as Peter found spare hours not merely for society 
and saloons, but for what else he chose to undertake. 

Socially he had an evening with Miss De Voe, just before 
she left the city for the summer ; a dinner with Mr. PelL 


(62 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


who seemed to have taken a liking to Peter ; a call on 
Lispenard ; another on Le Grand; and a family meal at 
the Rivingtons, where he was made much of in return for 
his aid to Ray. 

In the saloons he worked hard over the coming primary, 
and spent evenings as well on doorsteps in the district, talk- 
ing over objects and candidates. In the same cause, he 
saw much of Costell, Green, Gallagher, Schlurger and 
many other party men of greater or less note in the city’s 
politics. He had become a recognized quantity in the 
control of the district, and the various ward factions tried 
hard to gain his support. When the primary met, the 
proceedings, if exciting, were never for a moment doubt- 
ful, for Gallagher, Peter, Moriarty and Blunkers had been 
able to agree on both programme and candidates. An 
attempt had been made to “turn down ” Schlurger, but 
Peter had opposed it, and had carried his point, to the 
great gratitude of the silent, honest German. What was 
more important to him, this had all been done* without 
exciting hard feelings. 

“Stirling’s a reasonable fellow,” Gallagher told Costell, 
not knowing how much Peter was seeing of the big leader, 
“and he isn’t dead set on carrying his own schemes. 
We've never had so little talk of mutiny and sulking as we 
have had this spring. Moriarty and Blunkers swear by 
him. It's queer. They’ve always been on opposite sides 
till now.” 

When the weather became pleasant, Peter took up his 
“ angle” visitings again, though not with quite the former 
regularity. Yet he rarely let a week pass without having 
spent a couple of evenings there. The spontaneous wel- 
come accorded him was payment enough for the time, let 
alone the pleasure and enjoyment he derived from the 
imps. There was little that could raise Peter in their 
estimation, but they understood very well that he had 
become a man of vast importance, as it seemed to them. 
They had sharp little minds and ears, and had caught 
what the “district” said and thought of Peter. 

“Cheese it, the cop, Tim,” cried an urchin one evening 
to another, who was about to “play ball.” 

“ Cheese it yerself. He won’t dare tech me,” shouted 
Tim, “so long as Mister Peter’s here.” 

That speech alone showed the magnitude of his position 


IN THE MEANTIME. 163 

in their eyes. He was now not merely, “ friends wid de 
perlice ; ” he was held in fear by that awesome body ! 

“ If I was as big as him,” said one, “I'd fire all the 
peelers. ” 

“Wouldn’t that be dandy I ” cried another. 

He won their hearts still further by something he did in 
midsummer. Blunkers had asked him to attend wha< 
brilliant posters throughout that part of the city announcer 
as : 

HO FOR THE SEA-SHORE! 

SIXTH ANNUAL 

CLAM BAKE 

OF THE 

PATRICK NT. BLXJNKERS’S ASSOCIATION . 

When Peter asked, he found that it was to consist of a 
barge party (tickets fifty cents) to a bit of sand not far 
away from the city, with music, clams, bathing and danc- 
ing included in the price of the ticket, and unlimited beer 
for those who could afford that beverage. 

“The beer just pays for it,” Blunkers explained. “1 

don’t give um whisky cause some cusses don’t drink 

like as dey orter. ” Then catching a look in Peter’s face, 
he laughed rather shamefacedly. “I forgits,” he ex- 
plained. “ Yersee I’m so da ” he checked himself — 

“I swears widout kn owin’ it.” 

“I shall be very glad to go,” said Peter. 

“Dat’s bully,” said Blunkers. Then he added 
anxiously: “ Dere’s somethin’ else, too, since yer goin’. 
Ginerally some feller makes a speech. Yer wouldn’t 
want to do it dis time, would yer ? ” 

“What do they talk about ? ” 

“ Just what dey ” Blunkers swallowed a word, nearly 

choking in so doing, and ended “please.” 

“Yes. I shall be glad to talk, if you don’t mind my 
taking a dull subject? ” 

“Yer just talk what yer want. We’ll listen.” 

After Peter had thought it over for a day, he went to 
Blunkers’s gin palace. 

“ Look here,” he said. “Would it be possible to hire 
one more barge, and take the children free ? I’ll pay for 


164 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

the boat, and for the extra food, if they won't be in the 
way. ” 

4 ‘I'm damned if yer do,” shouted Blunkers. “Yer 
don’t pay for nothinks, but der childers shall go, or my 
name ain’t Blunkers.” 

And go they did, Blunkers making no secret of the fact 
that it was Peter’s idea. So every child who went, nearly 
wild with delight, felt that the sail, the sand, the sea, and 
the big feed, was all owed to Peter 

It was rather an amusing experience to Peter. He found 
many of his party friends in the district, not excluding 
such men as Gallagher, Kennedy and others of the more 
prominent rank. He made himself very pleasant to those 
whom he knew, chatting with them on the trip down. 
He went into the water with the men and boys, and 
though there were many good swimmers, Peter’s country 
and river training made it possible for him to give even 
the ‘ ‘ wharf rats, ” a point or two in the way of water 
feats. Then came the regulation clam-bake, after which 
Peter talked about the tenement-house question for twenty 
minutes. The speech was very different from what they 
expected, and rather disappointed them all. However, he 
won back their good opinions in closing, for he ended 
with a very pleasant “thank you,” to Blunkers, so neatly 
worded, and containing such a thoroughly apt local joke, 
that it put all in a good humor, and gave them something 
to tell their neighbors, on their return home. The advan- 
tage of seldom joking is that people remember the joke, 
and it gets repeated. Peter almost got the reputation of 
a wit on that one joke, merely because it came after a 
serious harangue, and happened to be quotable. Blunkers 
was so pleased with the end of the speech that he got 
Peter to write it out, and to this day the “thank you” 
part of the address, in Peter’s neat handwriting, hand- 
somely framed, is to be seen in Blunkers’s saloon. 

Peter also did a little writing this summer. He had gone 
to see three or four of the reporters, whom he had met in 
“the case,” to get them to write up the Food and Tene- 
ment subjects, wishing thereby to stir up public feeling. 
He was successful to a certain degree, and they not 
merely wrote articles themselves, but printed three or four 
which Peter wrote. In two cases, he was introduced to 
‘ staff ” writers, and even wrote an editorial, for which 


IN THE MEANTIME. 


* 6 5 

Jle was paid fifteen dollars. This money was all he 
received for the time spent, but he was not working for 
shekels. All the men told him to let them know when he 
had more “stories” for them, and promised him assist- 
ance when the reports should go in to the legislature. 

Peter visited his mothei as usual during August. Be- 
fore going, he called on Dr. Plumb, and after an evening 
with him, went to two tenements in the district. As the 
result of these calls, he carried three children with him 
when he went home. Rather pale, thin little waifs. It 
is a serious matter to charge any one with so grave a crime 
as changling, but Peter laid himself open to it, for when 
he came back, after two weeks, he returned very different 
children to the parents. The fact that they did not 
prosecute for the substitution only proves how little the 
really poor care for their offspring. 

But this was not his only summering. He spent four 
days with the Costells, as well as two afternoons later, 
thoroughly enjoying, not merely the long, silent drives 
over the country behind the fast horses, but the pottering 
round the flower-garden with Mrs. Costell. He had been 
reading up a little on flowers and gardening, and he was 
glad to swap his theoretical for her practical knowledge. 
Candor compels the statement that he enjoyed the long 
hours stretched on the turf, or sitting idly on the veranda, 
puffing Mr. Costell's good Havanas. 

Twice Mr. Bohlmann stopped at Peter's office of a 
Saturday and took him out to stay over Sunday at his villa 
in one of the Oranges. The family all liked Peter and 
did not hesitate to show it. Mr. Bohlmann told him : 

“ I sbend about dree dousand a year on law und law- 
babers. Misder Dummer id does for me, but ven he does 
nod any longer it do, I gifts id you.” 

On the second visit Mrs. Bohlmann said : 

“I tell my good man that with all the law-business he 
has, he must get a lawyer for a son-in-law.” 

Peter had not heard Mrs. Bohlmann say to her husband 
the evening before, as they were prinking for dinner : 

*• Have you told Mr. Stirling about your law business ? ” 

Nor Mr. Bohlmann’s prompt : 

“Yah. I dells him der last dime.” 

Yex Peter wondered if there were any connection be- 
tween the two statements. He liked the two girls. They 


i66 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


were nice-looking, sweet, sincere women. He knew that 
Mr. Bohlmann was ranked as a millionaire already, and 
was growing richer fast. Yet — Peter needed no blank 
walls. 

During this summer, Peter had a little more law prac- 
tice. A small grocer in one of the tenements came to 
him about a row with his landlord. Peter heard him 
through, and then said : “I don’t see that you have any 
case ; but if you will leave it to me to do as I think best, 
I’ll try if I can do something,” and the man agreeing, 
Peter went to see the landlord, a retail tobacconist up-town. 

“I don’t think my client has any legal grounds,” he 
told the landlord, “but he thinks that he has, and the 
case does seem a little hard. Such material repairs could 
not have been foreseen when the lease was made.” 

The tobacconist was rather obstinate at first. Finally 
he said, “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll contribute one 
hundred dollars towards the repairs, if you’ll make a 
tenant named Podds in the same building pay his rent ; 
or dispossess him if he doesn’t, so that it shan’t cost me 
anything. ” 

Peter agreed, and went to see the tenant in arrears. He 
found that the man had a bad rheumatism and consequently 
was unable to work. The wife was doing what she could, 
and even the children had been sent on the streets to sell 
papers, or by other means, to earn what they could. 
They also owed a doctor and the above-mentioned 
grocer. Peter went back to the landlord and told him 
the story. 

“Yes,” he said, “it’s a hard case, I know, but, Mr. 
Stirling, I owe a mortgage on the place, and the interest 
falls due in September. I’m out four months’ rent, and 
really can’t afford any more.” So Peter took thirty-two 
dollars from his “Trustee ” fund, and sent it to the tobac- 
conist. “ I have deducted eight dollars for collection,” 
he wrote. Then he saw his first client, and told him of 
his landlord’s concession. 

“ How much do I owe you ? ” inquired the grocer. 

“ The Podds tell me they owe you sixteen dollars. 

“Yes. I shan’t get it.” 

“ My fee is twenty-five. Mark off their bill and give 
me the balance.” 

The grocer smiled cheerfully. He had charged the 


A “ COMEDY r 


167 

Podds roundly for their credit, taking his chance of pay, 
and now got it paid in an equivalent of cash. He gave 
the nine dollars with alacrity. 

Peter took it upstairs and gave it to Mrs. Podds. “If 
things look up with you later,” he said, “you can pay it 
back. If not, don’t trouble about it. I’ll look in in a 
couple of weeks to see how things are going.” 

When this somewhat complicated matter was ended, 
he wrote about it to his mother : 

“ Many such cases would bankrupt me. As it is, my fund is dwin- 
dling faster than I like to see, though every lessening of it means a les 
sening of real trouble to some one. I should like to tell Miss De Voe 
what good her money has done already, but fear she would not under- 
stand why I told her. It has enabled me to do so much that otherwise 
I could not have afforded. There is only one hundred and seventy-six 
dollars left. Most of it though, is merely loaned and perhaps will be 
repaid. Anyway, I shall have nearly six hundred dollars for my work as 
secretary of the Food Commission, and I shall give half of it to this 
fund.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A “COMEDY.” 

When the season began again, Miss De Voe seriously 
undertook her self-imposed work of introducing Peter. 
He was twice invited to dinner and was twice taken with 
opera parties to sit in her box, besides receiving a number 
of less important attentions. Peter accepted dutifully all 
that she offered him. Even ordered a new dress-suit of 
a tailor recommended by Lispenard. He was asked by 
some of the people he met to call, probably on Miss 
De Voe’s suggestion, and he dutifully called. Yet at the 
end of three months Miss De Voe shook her head. 

“ He is absolutely a gentleman, and people seem to 
like him. Yet somehow — I don’t understand it.” 

“ Exactly,” laughed Lispenard. “You can’t make a silk 
purse out of a sow’s ear. ” 

“ Lispenard,” angrily said Miss De Voe, “ Mr. Stirling 
is as much better than ” 

“That’s it,” said Lispenard. “Don’t think I’m depre- 
ciating Peter. The trouble is that he is much too good a 
chap to make into a society or a lady’s man.” 


i68 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


“ I believe you are right. I don't think he cares for it 
at all. ” 

“ No,” said Lispenard. “ * Barkis is not willin'. I think 
he likes you, and simply goes to please you.” 

“ Do you really think that’s it ? ” 

Lispenard laughed at the earnestness with which the 
question was asked. “No,” he replied. “I was joking. 
Peter cultivates you, because he wants to know your 
swell friends.” 

Either this conversation or Miss De Voe’s own thoughts, 
led to a change in her course. Invitations to formal 
dinners and to the opera suddenly ceased, and instead, 
little family dinners, afternoons in galleries, and evenings 
at concerts took their place. Sometimes Lispenard went 
with them, sometimes one of the Ogden girls, sometimes 
they went alone. It was an unusual week when Peter’s 
mail did not now bring at least one little note giving him 
a chance to see Miss De Voe if he chose. 

In February came a request for him to call. “I want 
to talk with you about something,” it said. That same 
evening he was shown into her drawing-rooms. She 
thanked him with warmth for coming so quickly, and 
Peter saw that only the other visitors prevented her from 
showing some strong feeling. He had stumbled in on 
her evening — for at that time people still had evenings — 
but knowing her wishes, he stayed till they were left alone 
together. 

“Come into the library,” she said. As they passed 
across the hall she told Morden, “ I shall not receive any 
more to-night.” 

The moment they were in the smaller and cosier room, 
without waiting to sit even, she began : “Mr. Stirling, I 
dined at the Manfreys yesterday.” She spoke in a voice 
evidently endeavoring not to break. Peter looked 
puzzled. 

“Mr. Lapham, the bank president, was there.” 

Peter still looked puzzled. 

“And he told the table about a young lawyer who had 
very little money, yet who put five hundred dollars — his 

first fee — into his bank, and had used it to help ” 

Miss De Voe broke down, and, leaning against the mantel, 
buried her face in her handkerchief. 

“ It’s curious you should have heard of it,” said Peter. 


A “COMEDY.” i6j 

** He — he didn't mention names, b-bu-but I knew, of 
course. ” 

“ I didn’t like to speak of it because — well — I’ve wanted 
to tell you the good it’s done. Suppose you sit down.” 
Peter brought a chair, and Miss De Voe took it. 

“You must think I’m very foolish,” she said, wiping 
her eyes. 

“It’s nothing to cry about.” And Peter began telling 
her of some of the things which he had been able to do : 
— of the surgical brace it had bought ; of the lessons 
in wood-engraving it had given ; of the sewing-machine it 
had helped to pay for ; of the arrears in rent it had settled. 
“You see,” he explained, “ these people are too self-re- 
specting to go to the big charities, or to rich people. But 
their troubles are talked over in the saloons and on the 
door-steps, so I hear of them, and can learn whether 
they really deserve help. They’ll take it from me, be- 
cause they feel that I’m one of them.” 

Miss De Voe was too much shaken by her tears to talk 
that evening. Miss De Voe’s life and surroundings were 
not exactly weepy ones, and when tears came they meant 
much. She said little, till Peter rose to go, and then 
only : 

“ I shall want to talk with you, to see what I can 
do to help you in your work. Please come again soon. 
I ought not to have brought you here this evening, only 
to see me cry like a baby. But — I had done you such 
injustice in my mind about that seven dollars, and then 
to find that — Oh ! ” Miss De Voe showed signs of a recur- 
ring break-down, but mastered herself. “ Good-evening. ” 

Peter gone, Miss De Voe had another “good” cry- - 
which is a feminine phrase, quite incomprehensible to 
men — and, going to her room, bathed her eyes. Then she 
sat before her boudoir fire, thinking. Finally she rose. 
In leaving the fire, she remarked aloud to it : 

“ Yes. He shall have Dorothy, if I can do it.” 

So Dorothy became a pretty regular addition to the in- 
formal meals, exhibitions and concerts. Peter was once 
more taken to the opera, but Dorothy and Miss De Voe 
formed with him the party in the box on such nights. 
Miss De Voe took him to call on Mrs. Odgen, and sang 
his praises to both parents. She even went so far as to 
say frankly to them what was in her mind. 


4/0 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

Mr. Ogden said, “ Those who know him speak verj 
well of him. I heard ‘Van* Pell praise him highly at 
Newport last summer. Said all the politicians thought of 
him as a rising man.” 

“ He seems a nice steady fellow,” said the mamma. “I 
don’t suppose he has much practice ? ” 

“Oh, don’t think of the money,” said Miss De Voe. 
“What is that compared to getting a really fine man 
whom one can truly love?” 

“Still, money is an essential,” said the papa. 

“Yes. But you both know what I intend to do for 
Dorothy and Minna. They need not think of money. 
If he and Dorothy only will care for each other 1 ” 

Peter and Dorothy did like each other. Dorothy was 
very pretty, and had all the qualities which make a girl 
a strong magnet to men. Peter could not help liking her. 
As for Dorothy, she was like other women. She enjoyed the 
talking, joking, “good-time” men in society, and chatted 
and danced with them with relish. But like other women, 
when she thought of marriage, she did not find these 
gingerbread ornamentations so attractive. The average 
woman loves a man, aside from his love for her, for his 
physical strength, and his stiff truth- tel ling. The first is 
attractive to her because she has it not. Far be it from 
man to say why the second attracts. So Dorothy liked 
Peter. She admired many qualities in him which she would 
not have tolerated in other men. It is true that she 
laughed at him, too, for many things, but it was the 
laughter of that peculiar nature which implies admiration 
and approval, rather than the lower feelings. When the 
spring separation came, Miss De Voe was really quite 
hopeful. 

“I think things have gone very well. Now, Mr. Stir- 
ling has promised to spend a week with me at Newport. 
I shall have Dorothy there at the same time,” she told 
Mrs. Ogden. 

Lispenard, who was present, laughed as usual. “Sc 
you are tired of your new plaything already ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Arn’t you marrying him so as to get rid of his calls* 
and his escortage ? ” 

“ Of course not. We shall go on just the same.” 

“Bully for you, Ma. Does Dr. Brown know it?” 


* "COMEDY? 


* 7 * 

Miss De Voe flushed angrily, and put an endtohercalL 
“ What a foolish fellow Lispenard is ! ” she remarked un- 
consciously to Wellington at the carriage door. 

“ Beg pardon, mum ? ” said Wellington, blank wonder- 
ment filling his face. 

“ Home, Wellington,” said Miss De Voe crossly. 

Peter took his week at Newport on his way back from 
his regular August visit to his mother. Miss De Voe had 
told him casually that Dorothy would be there, and Dor- 
othy was there. Yet he saw wonderfully little of her. It 
is true that he could have seen more if he had tried, but 
Peter was not used to practice finesse to win minutes and 
hours with a girl, and did not feel called upon, bluntly, to 
take such opportunities. His stay was not so pleasant 
as he had expected. He had thought a week in the same 
house with Miss De Voe, Dorothy and Lispenard, without 
much regard to other possible guests, could not but be a 
continual pleasure. But he was conscious that something 
was amiss with his three friends. Nor was Peter the only 
one who felt it. Dorothy said to her family when she 
went home : 

“I can’t imagine what is the matter with Cousin An- 
neke. All last spring she was nicer to me than she has 
ever been before, but from the moment I arrived at New- 
port, and before I could possibly have said or done any- 
thing to offend her, she treated me in the snippiest way. 
After two days I asked her what the matter was, but she 
insisted there was nothing, and really lost her temper 
at my suggesting the idea. There was something, I 
know, for when I said I was coming home sooner than I 
had at first intended, she didn’t try to make me stay.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Mrs. Ogden, “she was disappointed 
in something, and so vented her feeling on you.” 

“But she wasn’t cross — except when I asked her what 
the matter was. She was just — just snippy.” 

“Was Mr. Stirling there ? ” 

“Yes. And a lot of other people. I don’t think any- 
body had a good time, unless it was Cousin Lispenard. 
And he wasn’t a bit nice. He had some joke to himself, 
and kept making remarks that nobody could understand, 
and chuckling over them. I told him once that he was 
rude, but he said that ‘ when people went to a play they 
should laugh at the right points,' That’s the nice thing 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


'12 

about Mr. Stirling. You know that what he says is the 
real truth." 

“Lispenard's always trying to be clever." 

“ Yes. What do you suppose he said to me as I came 
away ! " 

“What?" 

“ He shook my hand, laughing, and said, ‘Exit villain. 
It is to be a comedy, not a tragedy.' What could he 
mean ? " 

Lispenard stayed on to see the “ comedy, " and seemed to 
enjoy it, if the amused expression on his face when he oc« 
casionally gave himself up to meditation was any criterion. 
Peter had been pressed to stay beyond the original week, 
and had so far yielded as to add three days to his visit. 
These last three days were much pleasanter than those 
which had gone before, although Dorothy had departed 
and Peter liked Dorothy. But he saw much more of Miss 
De Voe, and Miss De Voe was in a much pleasanter 
mood. They took long drives and walks together, and 
had long hours of talk in and about the pleasant house 
and grounds. Miss De Voe had cut down her social 
duties for the ten days Peter was there, giving far more 
time for them to kill than usually fell to Newporters even 
in those comparitively simple days. 

In one of these talks. Miss De Voe spoke of Dorothy. 

“She is such a nice, sweet girl," she said. “We all 
hope she'll marry Lispenard. " 

“Do you think cousins ought to marry?" 

Miss De Voe had looked at Peter when she made her 
remark. Peter had replied quietly, but his question, as 
Miss De Voe understood it, was purely scientific, not per- 
sonal. Miss De Voe replied : 

“ I suppose it is not right, but it is so much better than 
what may happen, that it really seems best. It is so 
hard for a girl in Dorothy's position to marry as we should 
altogether wish." 

“ Why ? " asked Peter, who did not see that a girl with 
prospective wealth, fine social position, and personal 
charm, was not necessarily well situated to get the right 
kind of a husband. 

“It is hard to make it clear — but — I’ll tell you my own 
story, so that you can understand. Since you don’t ask 
questions, I will take the initiative. That is, unless vou* 


a * comedy: 


not asking them means you are not interested ? “ Miss De 
Voe laughed in the last part of this speech. 

“I should like to hear it." 

People, no matter what Peter stated, never said 
“ Really ? ” “You are in earnest ? ” or “ You really mean 
it? ” So Miss De Voe took him at his word. 

“Both my father and mother were rich before they 
married, and the rise in New York real estate made them 
in time, much richer. They both belonged to old families. 
I was the only child — Lispenard says old families are so 
proud of themselves that they don’t dare to have large 
families for fear of making the name common. Of course 
they lavished all their thought, devotion and anxiety on 
me. I was not spoiled ; but I was watched and tended 
as if I were the most precious thing the world con- 
tained. When I grew up, and went into society, I ques- 
tion if I ever was a half-hour out of the sight of one or the 
other of my parents. I had plenty of society, of course, 
but it was restricted entirely to our set. None other was 
good enough for me ! My father never had any busi- 
ness, so brought no new element into our household. It 
was old families, year in and year out 1 From the mo- 
ment I entered society I was sought for. I had many 
suitors. I had been brought up to fear fortune-hunting, 
and suspected the motives of many men. Others did not 
seem my equals — for I had been taught pride in my 
birth. Those who were fit as regarded family were, many 
of them, unfit in brains or morals — qualities not conspic- 
uous in old families. Perhaps I might have found one to 
love — if it had not been for the others. I was surrounded 
wherever I went and if by chance I found a pleasant man 
to talk to, tite-h-tete, we were interrupted by other men 
coming up. Only a few even of the men whom I met 
could gain an entr&e to our house. — They weren’t thought 
good enough. If a working, serious man had ever been 
able to see enough of me to love me, he probably would 
have had very little opportunity to press his suit. But 
the few men I might have cared for were frightened off 
by my money, or discouraged by my popularity and ex- 
clusiveness. They did not even try. Of course I did not 
understand it then. I gloried in my success and did not 
eee the wrong it was doing me. I was absolutely happy 
at home, and really had not the slightest inducement 


*74 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


marry — especially among the men I saw the most I led 
this life for six years. Then my mother’s death put me 
in mourning. When I went back into society, an almost 
entirely new set of men had appeared. Those whom I 
had known were many of them married — others were 
gone. Society had lost its first charm to me. So my 
father and I travelled three years. We had barely re- 
turned when he died. I did not take up my social duties 
again till I was thirty-two. Then it was as the spinster 
aunt, as you have known me. Now do you understand 
how hard it is for such a girl as Dorothy to marry rightly ? * 

“Yes. Unless the man is in love. Let a man care 
enough for a woman, and money or position will not 
frighten him off.” 

“Such men are rare. Or perhaps it is because I did 
not attract them. I did not understand men as well then 
as I do now. Of some whom I thought unlovable or dull 
at that time, I have learned to think better. A woman 
does not marry to be entertained — or should not.” 

“I think,” said Peter, “that one marries for love and 
sympathy. ” 

“ Yes. And if they are given, it does not matter about 
the rest. Even now, thirty-seven though I am, if I could 
find a true man who could love me as I wish to be loved, 
I could love him with my whole heart. It would be my 
happiness not merely to give him social position and 
wealth, but to make his every hope and wish mine also.” 

All this had been said in the same natural manner 
in which they both usually spoke. Miss De Voe had 
talked without apparent emotion. But when she began 
the last remark, she had stopped looking at Peter, and 
had gazed off through the window at the green lawn, 
merely showing him her profile. As a consequence she 
did not see how pale he suddenly became, nor the look 
of great suffering that came into his face. She did not 
see this look pass and his face, and especially his mouth, 
settle into a rigid determination, even while the eyes 
remained sad. 

Miss De Voe ended the pause by beginning, “ Don’t 
you ” — but Peter interrupted her there, by saying : 

“ It is a very sad story to me — because I — I once craved 
love and sympathy.” 

Miss De Voe turned and looked at him quickly. She 


CONFLICTS. 


*75 

8aw the look of suffering on his face, but read it amiss. 
“You mean ? ” she questioned. 

“There was a girl I loved," said Peter softly, “who 
did not love me." 

“And you love her still P ” 

“I have no right to." 

“She is married ? " 

“Yes. " 

“Will you tell me about it ? ” 

“ I — I would rather not.” 

Miss De Voe sat quietly for a moment, and then rose. 
’‘Dear friend," she said, laying her hand on Peters 
shoulder, “ we have both missed the great prize in life. 
Your lot is harder than the one I have told you about. 
It is very,” — Miss DeVoe paused a moment, — “it is very 
sad to love — without being loved." 

And so ended Lispenard’s comedy. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

CONFLICTS. 

Lispenard went back with Peter to the city. He gave 
his reason on the train : 

“You see I go back to the city occasionally in the sum- 
mer, so as to make the country bearable, and then I go 
back to the country, so as to make the city endurable. I 
shall be in Newport again in a week. When will you 
come back ? " 

“ My summering's over.” 

‘ ‘ Indeed. I thought my cousin would want you again ! ” 

“ She did not say so." 

“The deuce she didn't. It must be the only thing she 
didn’t say, then, in your long confabs ? " 

Peter made no reply, though Lispenard looked as well 
as asked a question. 

‘ ‘ Perhaps, " continued Lispenard, ‘ ‘ she talked too much, 
and so did not remember to ask you? " 

Still Peter said nothing. 

“Are you sure she didn't give you a chance to have 
more of her society P " Lispenard was smiling. 


176 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“Ogden,” said Peter gently, “you are behaving con 
temptibly and you know it.” 

The color blazed up into Lispenard’s face and he rose, 
saying : 

“ Did I understand you aright ? ” The manner and atti- 
tude were both threatening though repressed. 

“ If you tell me that I misunderstood you, I will apolo- 
gize. If you think the statement insulting, I will withdraw 
it. I did not speak to insult you ; but because I wished 
you to know "now your questions impressed me.” 

“ When a man tells another he is contemptible, he 
cannot expect to escape results. This is no place to have 
a scene. You may send me your apology when we reach 
New York ” 

Peter interrupted. “I shall, if you will tell me I 
wronged you in supposing your questions to be mali- 
cious. ” 

Lispenard paid no attention to the interjection. 
“Otherwise,” he finished, “we will consider our relations 
ended.” He walked away. 

Peter wrote Lispenard that evening a long letter. He 
did not apologize in it, but it ended : 

“ There should be no quarrel between us, for we ought to be friends. 
If alienation has come, it is due to what has occurred to-day, and that 
shall not cause unkind feelings, if I can help it. An apology is due 
somewhere. You either asked questions you had no right to ask, or 
else I misjudged you. I have written you my point of view. You have 
your own. I leave the matter to your fairness. Think it over, and if 
you still find me in the wrong, and will tell me so, I will apologize.” 

He did not receive a reply. Meeting Ogden Ogden a 
few days later, he was told that Lispenard had gone west for 
a hunting trip, quite unexpectedly. ‘ ‘ He said not to expect 
him back till he came. He seemed out of sorts at some- 
thing.” In September Peter had a letter from Miss De 
Voe. Merely a few lines saying that she had decided to 
spend the winter abroad, and was on the point of sailing. 
“I am too hurried to see my friends, but did not like to 
go without some good-byes, so I write them.” On the 
whole, as in the case of most comedies, there was little 
amusement for the actual performers. A great essayist 
has defined laughter as a “feeling of superiority in the 
laugher over the object laughed at.” If this is cor- 
rect, it makes all humor despicable. Certainly much 


CONFLICTS, 


*77 


coarseness, meanness and cruelty are every day toler- 
ated, because of the comic covering with which it is draped. 

It is not to be supposed that this comedy nor its winter 
prologue had diverted Peter from other things. In spite 
of Miss De Voe’s demands on his time he had enough 
left to spend many days in Albany when the legislature 
took up the reports of the Commissions. He found strong 
lobbies against both bills, and had a long struggle with them. 
He had the help of the newspapers, and he had the help 
of Costell, yet even with this powerful backing, the bills 
were first badly mangled, and finally were side-tracked. 
In the actual fight, Pell helped him most, and Peter began 
to think that a man might buy an election and yet not 
be entirely bad. Second only to Pell, was his whilom 
enemy, the former District-Attorney, now a state senator, 
who battled himself into Peter’s reluctant admiration and 
friendship by his devotion and loyalty to the bills. Peter 
concluded that he had not entirely done the man justice 
in the past. Curiously enough, his chief antagonist 
was Maguire. 

Peter did not give up the fight with this defeat. His 
work for the bills had revealed to him the real under- 
currents in the legislative body, and when it adjourned, 
making further work in Albany only a waste of time, he 
availed himself of the secret knowledge that had come to 
him, to single out the real forces which stood behind and 
paid the lobby, and to interview them. He saw the 
actual principals in the opposition, and spoke with utmost 
frankness. He told them that the fight would be re- 
newed, on his part, at every session of the legislature till 
the bills were passed ; that he was willing to consider pro- 
posed amendments, and would accept any that were 
honest. He made the fact very clear to them that they 
would have to pay yearly to keep the bills off the statute 
book. Some laughed at him, others quarrelled. But a 
few, after listening to him, stated their true objections to 
the bills, and Peter tried to meet them. 

When the fall elections came, Peter endeavored to 
further his cause in another way. Three of the city’s 
assemblymen and one of her senators had voted against 
the bills. Peter now invaded their districts, and talked 
against them in saloons and elsewhere. It very quickly 
birred up hard feeling, which resulted in attempts to down 


178 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

him. But Peter’s blood warmed up as the fight thick- 
ened, and hisses, eggs, or actual attempts to injure him 
physically did not deter him. The big leaders were ap- 
pealed to to call him off, but Costell declined to interfere. 

“He wouldn’t stop anyway,” he told Green, “so we 
should do no good. Let them fight it out by themselves.” 
Both of which sentences showed that Mr. Costell under 
stood his business. 

Peter had challenged his opponents to a joint debate, 
and when that was declined by them, he hired halls for 
evenings and spoke on the subject. He argued well, 
with much more feeling than he had shown since his 
speech in “the case.” After the first attempt of this kind, 
he had no difficulty in filling his halls. The rumor came 
back to his own district that he was “talkin’ foin,” and 
many of his friends there turned out to hear him. The 
same news went through other wards of the city and 
drew men from them. People were actually excluded, 
for want of room, and therefore every one became anxious 
to hear his speeches. Finally, by subscription of a numbei 
of people who had become interested, headed by Mr. Pell, 
the Cooper Union was hired, and Peter made a really 
great speech to nearly three thousand people. 

The papers came to his help too, and stood by him 
manfully. By their aid, it was made very clear that this 
was a fight against a selfish lobby. By their aid, it be- 
came one of the real questions of the local campaign, and 
was carried beyond the borders of the city, so as to play 
a part in the county elections. Peter met many of the 
editors, and between his expert knowledge, acquired on 
the Commissions, and his practical knowledge, learned at 
Albany, proved a valuable man to them. They repaid 
his help by kind words and praise in their columns, and 
brought him forward as the chief man in the movement. 
Mrs. Stirling concluded that the conspiracy to keep Peter 
in the background had been abandoned. 

“Those York papers couldn’t help my Peter’s getting 
on,” was the way she put it. 

The results of this fight were even better than he had 
hoped. One Assemblyman gave in and agreed no longer 
to oppose the bills. Another was defeated. The Senator 
had his majority so cut down that he retired from the 
3pposition. The questions too had become so much more 


THE END OF THE CONFLICT. 


*79 


discussed and watched, and the blame so fastened upon the 
lobby that many members from the country no longer 
dared to oppose legislation on the subject. Hence it was 
that the bills, newly drawn by Peter, to reduce opposition 
as far as possible, when introduced by Schlurger soon after 
the opening of the legislature, went through with a rush, 
not even ayes and nays being taken. Aided by Mr. 
Costell, Peter secured their prompt signing by Catlin, 
his long fight had ended in victory. 

The “sixt” was wild with joy over the triumph. 
Whether it was because it was a tenement ward, or be- 
cause Peter had talked there so much about it, or because 
his success was felt to redound to their credit, the 
voters got up a display of fireworks on the nighl when 
the news of the signing of the bills reached New York. 
When Peter returned to the city, he was called down to a 
hall one evening, to witness a torchlight procession and 
receive resolutions “engrossed and framed” from his 
admiring friends. Blunkers was chairman and made a 
plain speech which set the boys cheering by its combina- 
tion of strong feeling and lack of grammar. Then Justice 
Gallagher made a fine-sounding, big-worded presentation. 
In the enthusiasm of the moment, Dennis broke the pro- 
gramme by rising and giving vent to a wild burst of feel- 
ing, telling his audience all that they owed to Peter, and 
though they knew already what he told them, they 
cheered and cheered the strong, natural eloquence. 

41 Yer was out a order,” said Blunkers, at the end of the 
speech. 

“ Yez loi ! ” said Dennis, jumping on his feet again. 
“ It’s never out av order to praise Misther Stirling.” 

The crowd applauded his sentiment 


CHAPTER XXXIL 
THE END OF THE CONFLICT. 

Peter had had some rough experiences two or three 
limes in his fall campaign, and Dennis, who had insisted 
on escorting him, took him to task about his “physical 
culture. ” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


180 

4 ‘It’s thirty pounds yez are too heavy, sir,” he told 
k'eter. “An' it’s too little intirely yez afther knowin' av 
hittin’.” 

Peter asked his advice, bought Indian clubs, dumb-bells, 
and boxing-gloves, and under Dennis’s tutelage began to 
learn the art of self-defence. He was rather surprised, at 
the end of two months, to find how much flesh he had 
taken off, how much more easily he moved, how much 
more he was eating, and how much more he was able to 
do, both mentally and physically. 

“It seems as if somebody had oiled my body and brain,” 
he told Dennis. 

Dennis let him into another thing, by persuading him 
to join the militia regiment most patronized by the ‘ ‘ sixth, ” 
and in which Dennis was already a sergeant. Peter 
received a warm welcome from the regiment, for Dennis, 
who was extremely popular, had heralded his fame, and 
Peter’s physical strength and friendly way did the rest. 
Ogden Ogden laughed at him for joining a “Mick” 
regiment, and wanted to put Peter into the Seventh. 
Peter only said that he thought his place was where he 
was. 

Society did not see much of Peter this winter. He 
called on his friends dutifully, but his long visits to Albany, 
his evenings with Dennis, and his drill nights, interfered 
badly with his acceptance of the invitations sent him. 
He had, too, made many friends in his commission work 
and politics, so that he had relatively less time to give 
to his older ones. The absence of Miss De Voe and 
Lispenard somewhat reduced his social obligations it is 
true, but the demands on his time were multiplying fast. 

One of these demands was actual law work. The first 
real case to come to him was from the contractor who 
had served on the tenement-commission. He was also 
employed by the Health Board as special counsel in a 
number of prosecutions, to enforce clauses of his Food 
Bill. The papers said it was because of his familiarity 
with the subject, but Peter knew it was the influence of 
Green, who had become a member of that Board. Then 
he began to get cases from the “ district,” and though 
there was not much money in each case, before long 
*die number of them made a very respectable total. 

The growth of his practice was well proven by a 


THE END OF THE CONFLICT 181 

suggestion from Dummer that they should join forces. 
“ Mr. Bohlmann wants to give you some of his work, and 
it's easier to go into partnership than to divide his practice/' 

Peter knew that Dummer had a very lucrative business 
of a certain kind, but he declined the offer. 

“ I have decided never to take a case which has not 
Tight on its side.” 

“A lawyer is just as much bound to try a case as a 
physician is bound to take a patient.” 

“That is what lawyers say outside, but they know 
better. ” 

“Well, have your scruples. We’ll make the firm cases 
only such as you choose. I'll manage the others.” 

“I should like to,” said Peter. “I'm very grateful for 
the offer — but we could hardly do that successfully. If 
the firm was good for anything, we should be known as 
belonging to it, and the public could not well discrim- 
inate.” 

So that chance of success was passed. But every now 
and then Bohlmann sent him something to do, and Dum- 
mer helped him to a joint case occasionally. 

So, though friends grew steadily in numbers, society 
saw less and less of Peter. Those who cared to study 
his tastes came to recognize that to force formal entertain- 
ing on him was no kindness, and left it to Peter to drop 
in when he chose, making him welcome when he came. 

He was pleased to get a letter from Lispenard during 
the winter, from Japan. It was long, but only the first 
paragraph need be quoted, for the rest related merely to 
his travels : 

“ The breezes of the Pacific have blown away all my bad temper,” he 
wrote, “ and I want to say that I was wrong, and regret my original 
fault, as well as what it later led me into. You are quite right. We 
must continue friends.” 

Peter wrote a reply, which led to a regular correspond- 
ence. He sent Miss De Voe, also, a line of Christmas 
greetings, and received a long letter from her at Nice, 
which told him something of Watts and Helen : 

“ She is now well again, but having been six years in Europe, she and 
her husband have become wedded to the life. I question if they ever 
return. I spoke of you, and they both inquired with great warmth 
about you.” 


182 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Peter replied, sending his “remembrance to Mr. and 
Mrs. D’Alloi in case you again meet them/' From that 
time on Miss De Voe and he corresponded, she telling him 
of her Italian, Greek and Egyptian wanderings, and he 
writing of his doings, especially in regard to a certain 
cavings bank fund standing in the name of “ Peter Stirling, 
trustee ” to which Miss De Voe had, the winter before, 
arranged to contribute a thousand dollars yearly. 

As his practice increased he began to indulge himself a 
little. Through the instrumentality of Mr. Pell, he was 
put first into one and later into a second of the New York 
clubs, and his dinners became far less simple in conse- 
quence. He used these comforters of men, indeed, almost 
wholly for dining, and, though by no means a club-man 
in other senses, it was still a tendency to the luxurious. 
To counteract this danger he asked Mr. Costell to pick 
him up a saddle-horse, whereupon that friend promptly 
presented him with one. He went regularly now to a 
good tailor, which conduct ought to have ruined him with 
the “b’ys,” but it didn’t. He still smoked a pipe occa- 
sionally in the saloons or on the doorsteps of the district, 
yet candor compels us to add that he now had in his 
room a box of cigars labelled “Habana.” These were 
creature pleasures, however, which he only allowed him- 
self on rare occasions. And most of these luxuries did 
not appear till his practice had broadened beyond the 
point already noted. 

Broaden it did. In time many city cases were thrown 
in his way. As he became more and more a factor in 
politics, the judges began to send him very profitable 
referee cases. Presently a great local corporation, with 
many damage suits, asked him to accept its work on a 
yearly salary. 

“Of course we shall want you to look out for us at 
Albany,” it was added. 

“I’ll do what I can to prevent unfair legislation. That 
must be all, though. As for the practice, you must let me 
settle every case where I think the right is with the 
plaintiff.” This caused demur at first, but eventually he 
was employed, and it was found that money was saved 
in the long run, for Peter was very successful in getting 
people to settle out of court. 

Then the savings bank, for which Peter had done his 


THE END OF THE CONFLICT. 183 

best (not merely as recorded, but at other times), turned 
over its law business to him, giving him many real 
estate transactions to look into, besides papers to draw. 
“He brings us a good many depositors, ” Mr. Lapham 
told his trustees, “ and is getting to be a large depositor 
himself. ” 

Peter began to find help necessary, and took a part- 
ner. He did this at the suggestion of Ogden Ogden, who 
had concluded his clerkship, and who said to Peter : 

“I have a lot of friends who promise me their work. 
I don't know how much it will be, but I should like to 
try it with you. Of course, yours is the bigger practice, 
but we can arrange that. ” 

So after considerable discussion, the sign on Peter’s 
door became ‘ ‘ Stirling and Ogden, ” and the firm blossomed 
out with an office boy — one of Peters original “angle” 
friends, now six years older than when Peter and he had 
first met. 

Ogden’s friends did materialize, and brought good paying 
cases. As the city, referee, corporation and bank work 
increased, their joint practice needed more help, and Ray 
Rivington was, on Ogden’s request, taken in. 

“He doesn’t get on with his law studies, though he 
pretends to work over them hard. In fact he’ll never be 
a good lawyer. He hasn’t a legal mind. But he’ll bring 
cases, for he’s very popular in society, and he’ll do 
all the palavering and running round very well. He’s 
just the fellow to please people. ” This was what Ogden 
urged, adding, 4 ‘ I might as well tell you that I’m inter- 
ested for another reason, too. He and Dorothy will 
marry, if he can ever get to the marrying point. This, of 
course, is to be between us.” 

“ I’ll be very glad to have him, both for his own sake, 
and for what you’ve just told me,” said Peter. 

Thus it was that the firm again changed its name, be- 
coming “Stirling, Ogden and Rivington,” and actually 
spread into two other rooms, Peter’s original little “ ten 
by twelve ” being left to the possession of the office boy. 
That functionary gazed long hours at the map of Italy on 
the blank wall, but it did not trouble him. He only 
whistled and sang street songs at it. As for Peter, he was 
too busy to need blank walls. He had fought two great 
opponents. The world and himself. He had conquered 
them both. 


i&4 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

A RENEWAL. 

If the American people had anglicized themselves as 
thoroughly into liking three-volume stories, as they have 
in other things, it would be a pleasure to trace the next 
ten years of Peter’s life ; for his growing reputation makes 
this period a far easier matter to chronicle than the more 
obscure beginnings already recorded. If his own life did 
not supply enough material we could multiply our char- 
acters, as did Dickens, or journey sideways, into little 
essays, as did Thackeray. His life and his biographer’s 
pen might fail to give interest to such devices, but the 
plea is now for “realism,” which most writers take to mean 
microscopical examination of minutia. If the physical 
and psychical emotions of a heroine as she drinks a glass 
of water can properly be elaborated so as to fill two 
printed pages, Peter’s life could be extended endlessly. 
There were big cases, political fights, globe trottings, and 
new friends, all of which have unlimited potentialities for 
numerous chapters. But Americans are peculiar people, 
and do not buy a pound of sugar any the quicker because 
its bulk has been raised by a skilful admixture of moist- 
ure and sand. So it seems best partly to take the advice 
of the Bellman, in the “Hunting of the Snark,” to skip 
sundry years. In resuming, it is to find Peter at his 
desk, reading a letter. He has a very curious look on his 
face, due to the letter, the contents of which are as fol- 
lows : 

March 22. 

Dear old Chum— 

Here is the wretched old sixpence, just as bad as ever — if not worse— 
come back after all these years. 

And as of yore, the sixpence is in a dreadful pickle, and appeals to the 
old chum, who always used to pull him out of his scrapes, to do it once 
more. Please come and see me as quickly as possible, for every moment 


A RENEWAL. l8$ 

is Important. Y ou see I feel sure that I do not appeal In vain. ** Change 
less as the pyramids ” ought to be your motto. 

Helen and our dear little girl will be delighted to see you, as will 

Yours affectionately, 

Watts. 

Peter opened a drawer and put the letter into it. Then 
he examined his diary calendar. After this he went to a 
door, and, opening it, said : 

“ I am goinguptown for the afternoon. If Mr. Murtlv* 
comes, Mr. Ogden will see him." 

Peter went down and took a cab, giving the driver a 
number in Grammercy Park. 

The footman hesitated on Peter’s inquiry. “Mr. D’Alloi 
is in, sir, but is having his afternoon nap, and we have 
orders he’s not to be disturbed.” 

“Take him my card. He will see me.” 

The footman showed Peter into the drawing-room, and 
disappeared. Peter heard low voices for a moment, then 
the curtains of the back room were quickly parted, and, 
with hands extended to meet him, Helen appeared. 

“This is nice of you — and so unexpected ! ” 

Peter took the hand, but said nothing. They sat down, 
and Mrs. D’Alloi continued : 

“ Watts is asleep, and I have given word that he is not 
to be disturbed. I want to see you for a moment myself. 
You have plenty of time ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ That’s very nice. I don’t want you to be formal with 
us. Do say that you can stay to dinner? ” 

“I would, if I were not already engaged.” 

“ Then we’ll merely postpone it. It’s very good of you 
to come to see us. I’ve tried to get Watts to look you up, 
but he is so lazy ! It’s just as well since you’ve found 
us out. Only you should have asked for both of us.” 

“ I came on business,” said Peter. 

Mrs. D’Alloi laughed. “Watts is the poorest man in the 
world for that, but he’ll do anything he can to help you, 
I know. He has the warmest feeling for you.” 

Peter gathered from this that Mrs. D’Alloi did not know 
of the “scrape,” whatever it was, and with a lawyer’s 
caution, he did not attempt to disabuse her of the im- 
pression that he had called about his own affairs. 

“ How you have changed ! ” Mrs. D’Alloi continued* 


i86 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ If I had not known who it was from the card, I am no! 
cure that I should have recognized you.” 

It was just what Peter had been saying to himself of 
Mrs. D’Alloi. Was it her long ill-health, or was it the 
mere lapse of years, which had wrought such changes in 
her ? Except for the eyes, everything had altered. The 
cheeks had lost their roundness and color ; the hair had 
thinned noticeably ; lines of years and pain had taken away 
the sweet expression that formerly had counted for so 
much ; the pretty roundness of the figure was gone, and 
what charm it now had was due to the modiste’s skill. 
Peter felt puzzled. Was this the woman for whom he had 
so suffered? Was it this memory that had kept him, at 
thirty-eight, still a bachelor ? Like many another man, he 
found that he had been loving an ideal — a creation of his 
own mind. He had, on a boyish fancy, built a dream of 
a woman with every beauty and attraction, and had been 
loving it for many years, to the exclusion of all other 
womankind. Now he saw the original of his dream, with 
the freshness and glamour gone, not merely from the 
dream, but from his own eyes. Peter had met many pretty 
girls, and many sweet ones since that week at the Pierces. 
He had gained a very different point of view of women 
from that callow time. 

Peter was not blunderer enough to tell Mrs. D’Alloi that 
he too, saw a change. His years had brought tact, if 
they had not made him less straightforward. So he merely 
said, “You think so ? ” 

“ Ever so much. You’ve really grown slender, in spite 
of your broad shoulders — and your face is so — so different.” 

There was no doubt about it. For his height and 
breadth of shoulder, Peter was now by no means heavy. 
His face, too, had undergone a great change. As the round, 
ness had left it, the eyes and the forehead had both be- 
come more prominent features, and both were good. The 
square, firm jaw still remained, but the heaviness of the 
cheek and nose had melted into lines which gave only 
strength and character, and destroyed the dulness which 
people used to comment upon. The face would never be 
called handsome, in the sense that regular features are 
supposed to give beauty, but it was strong and speaking, 
with lines of thought and feeling. 

“You know,” laughed Mrs. D’Alloi, “you have actually 


A RENEWAL. 187 

become good-looking, and I never dreamed that was 
possible ! ” 

* How long have you been here ? ” 

“A month. We are staying with papa, till the house in 
Fifty-seventh Street can be put in order. It has been 
closed since Mrs. D’Alloi’s death. But don’t let’s talk 
houses. Tell me about yourself.” 

‘ ‘ There is little to tell. I have worked at my profession, 
with success.” 

“ But I see your name in politics. And I’ve met many 
people in Europe who have said you were getting very 
famous. ” 

“I spend a good deal of time in politics. I cannot say 
whether I have made myself famous, or infamous. It 
seems to depend on which paper I read.” 

“Yes, I saw a paper on the steamer, that ” Mrs. 

D’Alloi hesitated, remembering that it had charged Peter 
with about every known sin of which man is capable. 
Then she continued, “But I knew it was wrong.” Yet 
there was quite as much of question as of assertion in her 
remark. ' In truth, Mrs. D’Alloi was by no means sure that 
Peter was all that was desirable, for any charge made 
against a politician in this country has a peculiar vitality 
and persistence. She had been told that Peter was an 
open supporter of saloons, and that New York politics bat- 
tened on all forms of vice. So a favorite son could hardly 
have retained the purity that women take as a standard 
of measurement. “Don’t you find ward politics very 
hard ? ” she asked, dropping an experimental plummet, to 
see what depths of iniquity there might be. 

“ I haven’t yet.” 

“But that kind of politics must be very disagreeable to 
gentlemen. The men must have such dirty hands I ” 

“ It’s not the dirty hands which make American politics 
disagreeable. It’s the dirty consciences.” 

“ Are — are politics so corrupt and immoral? ” 

“Politics are what the people make them.” 

“ Really ? ” 

“I suppose your life has not been of a kind to make 
you very familiar with it all. Tell me what these long 
years have brought you ? ” 

“ Perfect happiness 5 Oh, Mr. Stirling — may I call you 
Peter ? — thank you. Peter, I have the finest, noblest hus- 


l88 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

band that ever lived ! He is everything that is good and 
kind ! ” Mrs. D’Alloi’s face lighted up with happiness and 
tenderness. , 

“ And your children ? ” 

“We have only one. The sweetest, loveliest child you 
can imagine. ” 

“Fie, fie, Rosebud,” cried a voice from the doorway. 
“You shouldn’t speak of yourself so, even if it is the 
truth. Leave that to me. How are you, Peter, old 
fellow ? I’d apologize for keeping you waiting, but if 
you’ve had Helen, there’s no occasion. Isn’t it Boileau 
who said that : * The best thing about many a man is 
his wife ’ ? ” 

Mrs. D’Alloi beamed, but said, “ It isn’t so, Peter. 
He’s much better than I.” 

Watts laughed. “You’ll have to excuse this, old man. 
Will happen sometimes, even in the properest of families, 
if one marries an angel.” 

“There, you see,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. “ He just spoils 
me, Peter.” 

“And she thrives on it, doesn’t she, Peter? ’’said Watts. 
“ Isn’t she prettier even than she was in the old days ? ” 
Mrs. D’Alloi colored with pleasure, even while saying : 
“ Now, Watts dear, I won’t swallow such palpable flattery. 
There’s one kiss for it — Peter won’t mind — and now I know 
you two want to talk old times, so I’ll leave you together. 
Good-bye, Peter — or rather au revoir — for you must be a 
regular visitor now. Watts, arrange with Peter to dine 
with us some day this week.” 

Mrs. D’Alloi disappeared through the doorway. Peter’s 
pulse did not change a beat 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

HELP. 

The moment she was gone, Watts held out his hand, 
Saying : “ Here, old man, let us shake hands again. 
It’s almost like going back to college days to see my old 
chum. Come to the snuggery, where we shan’t be 
interrupted.” They went through two rooms, to one 


HELF. 


189 


fitted up as a smoking-room and office. “It's papa-in- 
law’s workshop. He can’t drop his work at the bank, so 
he brings it home and goes on here. Sit down. Here, 
take a cigar. Now, are you comfortable? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mainienant, I suppose you want to know why I 
wrote you to come so quickly ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, the truth of it is, I'm in an awful mess. Yester- 
day I was so desperate I thought I should blow my brains 
out. I went round to the club to see if I couldn’t forget 
or drown my trouble, just as sick as a man could be. 
Fellows talking. First thing I heard was your name. 
‘Just won a great case.' One of the best lawyers in New 
York.' Thinks I to myself, ‘ That’s a special providence/ 
Peter always was the fellow to pull me through my col- 
lege scrapes. I'll write him/ Did it, and played billiards 
for the rest of the evening, secure in the belief that you 
would come to my help, just as you used to.” 

“ Tell me what it is ? ” 

“ Even that isn’t easy, chum. It’s a devilish hard thing 
to tell even to you.” 

“Is it money trou ? ” 

“No, no!” Watts interrupted. “It isn’t that. The 
truth is I’ve a great deal more money than is good for 
me, and apparently always shall have. I wish it were 
only that ! ” 

“ How can I help you ? ” began Peter. 

“I knew you would,” cried Watts, joyfully. “Just 
the same old reliable you always were. Here. Draw up 
nearer. That’s it. Now then, here goes. I shan’t mind 
if you are shocked at first. Be as hard on me as you 
like. ” 

“Well?” 

“Well, to make a long story short, I’m entangled with 
a woman, and there’s the devil to pay. Now you’ll pull 
me through, old man, won’t you ? ” 

“No.” 

“Don’t say that, Peter! You must help me. You’re 
my only hope. 

“I do not care to mix myself in such a business,” said 
Peter, very quietly. “I would rather know nothing 
about it.” Peter rose. 


190 THE HO HOE ABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“ Don't desert me," cried Wafts, springing to his feet, 
and putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, so as to prevent 
his progress to the door. “ Don’t. She’s going to expose 
me. Think of the disgrace ! My God, Peter, think •” 

“Take your hand off my shoulder.” 

“ But Peter, think ” 

“The time to think was before-— not now, Watts. I 
will not concern myself in this.” 

“But, old man. I can’t face it. It will kill Helen ! ” 

Peter had already thrown aside the arm, and had taken 
a step towards the doorway. He stopped and turned. 
“ She does not know ? ” 

“Not a suspicion. And nothing but absolute proof 
will make her believe it. She worships me. Oh, Peter, 
save her ! Save Leonore — if you won’t save me ! ” 

“ Can they be saved ? ” 

* ‘ That’s what I want to know. Here — sit down, please I 
I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Peter hesitated a moment, and then sat down. 

“ It began in Paris twelve years ago. Such affairs have 
a way of beginning in Paris, old man. It’s in the atmos- 
phere. She ” 

“Stop. I will ask questions. There’s no good going 
over the whole story. ” Peter tried to speak calmly, and 
to keep his voice and face from showing what he felt. 
He paused a moment, and then said : “ She threatens to 
expose you. Why ? ” 

“Well, after three years I tired of it, and tried to end it. 
Then she used it to blackmail me for ten years, till, in 
desperation, I came to America, to see if I couldn’t escape 
her.” 

“And she followed you ?” 

“Yes. She was always tracking me in Europe, and 
making my life a hell on earth, and now she’s followed 
me here. ” 

“ If it’s merely a question of money, I don’t see what 
you want of me.” 

“She says she doesn’t want money now — but revenge. 
She’s perfectly furious over my coming off without telling 
her — always had an awful temper — and — well, you know 
an infuriated woman is capable of anything. The Span- 
iard was right who said it was easier to take care of a 
peck of fleas than one woman, eh, chum ? ” 


HELP. 


* 9 * 


“ So she threatens to tell your wife? ” 

“No. She says she’s going to summon me into 
court. ” 

‘ ‘ On what grounds ? ” 

“ That’s the worst part of it. You see, chum, there’s a 
child, and she says she’s going to apply for a proper 
support for it. Proper support 1 Heavens ! The money 
I’ve paid her would support ten children. It’s only 
temper. ” 

Peter said, “ Watts, Watts,” in a sad voice. 

“Pretty bad, isn’t it? If it wasn’t for the child I 
could — r ” 

Peter interrupted. “Has she any proofs of paternity 
besides ■? ” 

Watts interrupted in turn. “Yes. Confound it 1 I 
was fool enough to write letters during my infatuation. 
Talleyrand was right when he said only fools and women 
wrote letters.” 

“ How could you ? ” 

“That’s what I’ve asked myself a hundred times. Oh, 
I’m sorry enough. I’ve sworn never to put pen to paper 
again. Jamais /” 

“ I did not mean the letters. But your vow.” 

“ My vow ? ” 

“Your marriage vow.” 

“Oh, yes. I know. But you know, chum, before you 
promise to love one woman for all time you should have 
seen them all.” 

“And that display ten minutes ago was all mockery?” 

“No, no I Really, Peter, I’m awfully fond of the little 
woman. Really I am. And you know Daudet says a 
man can love two women at the same time.” 

“And if so, how about his honor ? ” Peter was trying to 
repress his emotion, but it would jerk out questions. 

“ Yes, I know. I’ve said that to myself over and over 
again. Why, look here.” Watts pulled a small revolver 
from his hip pocket “This will show you how close to 
the desperation point I have come. I’ve carried that for 
two days, so that if worse comes to worse — well Phut 1 
— Voila tout . ” 

Peter rose, speaking in a voice ringing with scorn. 
“You would escape your sin, to leave it with added dis- 
grace for your wife and daughter to bear 1 Put up your 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


192 

pistol, Watts D’Alloi. If I am to help you, I want to 
help a man — not a skulker. What do you want me to 
do?” 

“ That’s what I wish to know. What can I do ? ” 

“You have offered her money?” 

“ Yes. I told her that ” 

“Never mind details,” interrupted Peter. “Was it 
enough to put further offers out of the question ? ” 

“Yes. She won’t hear of money. She wants revenge. * 

“ Give me her name and address.” 

“ Celestine ” The rest was interrupted by a knock 

at the door. “ Well ? ” said Watts. 

The door was opened, and a footman entered. “If 
you please, Mr. D’Alloi, there’s a Frenchwoman at the 
door who wants to see you. She won’t give me her name, 
but says you’ll know who it is.” 

“ Say I won’t see her. That I’m busy.” 

“She told me to say that if you were engaged, she’d 
see Mrs. D’Alloi.” 

“My God ! ” said Watts, under his breath. 

“Ask the woman to come in here,” said Peter, quietly, 
but in a way which made the man leave the room without 
waiting to see if Watts demurred. 

A complete silence followed. Then came the rustle 
of skirts, and a woman entered the room. Peter, who 
stood aside, motioned to the footman to go, and closed the 
door himself, turning the key. 

The woman came to the middle of the room. “So, 
Monsieur D’Alloi,” she said in French, speaking very low 
and distinctly, “you thought it best not to order your 
groom to turn me out, as you did that last day in Paris, 
when you supposed your flight to America left you free to 
do as you pleased ? But you did not escape me. Here 
I am.” 

Watts sat down in an easy-chair, and striking a match, 
lighted a cigarette. ‘ ‘ That, Celestine, ” he said in French, 
“is what in English we call a self-evident proposition.” 

Celestine’s foot began to tap the floor. “You needn’t 
pretend you expected I would follow you. You thought 
you could drop me, like an old slipper.” 

Watts blew a whiff of tobacco from his mouth. “It 
was a remark of Ricard’s, I believe, ‘ that in woman, one 
should always expect the unexpected.’ ” 


HELP. 


193 

“Mon Dieut” shrieked Celestine. “ If I — if I could kill 
you — you ” 

She was interrupted by Peter's bringing a chair to her 
and saying in French, “Will you not sit down, please?" 

She turned in surprise, for she had been too wrought up 
to notice that Peter was in the room. She stared at him 
and then sat down. 

“ That's right, " said Watts. “Take it easy. No oc- 
casion to get excited." 

“Ah!” screamed Celestine, springing to her feet, 
“your name shall be in all the papers. You shall " 

Peter again interrupted. “Madame, will you allow 
me to say something ? ” He spoke gently and deferen- 
tially. 

Celestine looked at him again, saying rapidly: “Why 
should I listen to you ? What are you to me ? I don't 

even know you. My mind's made up. I tell you " 

The woman was lashing herself into a fury, and Peter 
interrupted her again : 

“Pardon me. We are strangers. If I ask anything 
of you for myself, I should expect a refusal. But I ask it 
for humanity, to which we all owe help. Only hear what 
I have to say. I do not claim it as a right, but as a 
favor. " 

Celestine sat down. “ I listen," she said. She turned 
her chair from Watts and faced Peter, as he stood at the 
study table. 

Peter paused a moment, and then said : “ After what I 
have seen, I feel sure you wish only to revenge yourself 
on Mr. D’Alloi ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Now let me show you what you will do. For the 
last two days Mr. D'Alloi has carried a pistol in his pocket, 
and if you disgrace him he will probably shoot himself." 

“Bon ! " 

“But where is your revenge ? He will be beyond your 
reach, and you will only have a human life upon your 
conscience ever after." 

“I shall not grieve ! " 

“Nor is that all. In revenging yourself on him, you 
do one of the crudest acts possible. A wife, who trusts 
and believes in him, will have her faith and love shattered 
His daughter — a young girl, with all her life before her— 


194 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


must ever after despise her father and blush at her name. 
Do not punish the weak and innocent for the sin of the 
guilty ! ” Peter spoke with an earnestness almost terrible. 
Tears came into his eyes as he made his appeal, and his 
two auditors both rose to their feet, under the impulse of 
his voice even more than of his words. So earnest was 
he, and so spell-bound were the others, that they failed 
to hear the door from the dining-room move, or notice 
the entrance of Mrs. D’Alloi, as Peter ended his plea. 

A moment’s silence followed Peter’s outburst of feeling 
Then the Frenchwoman cried : 

“ Truly, truly. But what will you do for me and my 
child? Haven’t we been ill-treated? Don’t you owe us 
help, too ? Justice ? Don’t we deserve tenderness and 
protection ? ” 

“Yes,” said Peter. “But you wish revenge. Ask for 
justice, ask for help, and I will do what is within my 
power to aid you.” 

“Watts,” cried Mrs. D’Alloi, coming forward, “of 
what child are you talking? Whose child? Who is this 
woman ? ” 

Watts jumped as if he had been shot. Celestine even 
retreated before the terrible voice and face with which 
Mrs. D’Alloi asked her questions. A sad, weary look 
came into Peter’s eyes. No one answered Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“Answer me,” she cried. 

“My dear little woman. Don’t get excited. It’s all 
right. ” Watts managed to say this much. But he did not 
look his last remark. 

“ Answer me, I say. Who is this woman ? Speak ! ” 

“It’s all right, really, it’s all right. Here. Peter will 
tell you it’s all right.” 

“ Peter, ” cried Mrs. D’Alloi. “Of whose child were 
you speaking ?” 

Peter was still standing by the desk. He looked sad 
and broken, as he said : 

“This is the mother, Mrs. D’Alloi.” 

“Yes? Yes?” 

Peter raised his eyes to Helen’s, and looked at her 
Then he said quietly : 

“And Watts — will tell you that — I am its father.” 


RUNNING AWAY. 


*95 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

RUNNING AWAY. 

The dramatic pause which followed Peter’s statement 
was first broken by Mrs. D’Alloi, who threw her arms 
about Watt’s neck, and cried : “Oh ! my husband. For- 
give me, forgive me for the suspicion ! ” 

Peter turned to Celestine. “Madame,” he said. “We 
are not wanted here.” He unlocked the door into the 
hall, and stood aside while she passed out, which she did 
quietly. Another moment found the two on the sidewalk. 
“I will walk with you to your hotel, if you will permit 
me ? ” Peter said to her. 

“Certainly,” Celestine replied. Nothing more was 
said in the walk of ten blocks. When they reached the 
hotel entrance, Peter asked : “Can you see me for a few 
moments ? ” 

“ Yes. Come to my private parlor.” They took the 
elevator, and were but a moment in reaching that apart- 
ment. 

Peter spoke the moment the door was closed. “Ma- 
dame,” he said, “you saw that scene. Spare his wife 
and child? He is not worth your anger.” 

“Ah, Ciel!” cried Celestine, emotionally. “Do you 
think so lowly of me, that you can imagine I would 
destroy your sacrifice? Your romantic, your dramatic, 
mon Dieu / your noble sacrifice ? Non, non. Celestine 
Lacour could never do so. She will suffer cruelty, 
penury, insults, before she behaves so shamefully, so 
perfidiously. ” 

Peter did not entirely sympathize with the French- 
woman’s admiration for the dramatic element, but he was 
too good a lawyer not to accept an admission, no matter 
upon what grounds. He held out his hand promptly. 
“ Madame,” he said, “ accept my thanks and admiration 
for your generous conduct.” 

Celestine took it and shook it warmly. 


tg6 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“ Of course, ” said Peter. “Mr. D’Alloi owes you an 
ample income.” 

“Ah ! ” cried Celestine, shrugging- her shoulders. “Do 
not talk of him — I leave it to you to make him do what 
is right.” 

“ And you will return to France? ” 

“Yes, yes. If you say so?” Celestine looked at 
Peter in a manner known only to the Latin races. Just 
then a side door was thrown open, and a boy of about 
twelve years of age dashed into the room, followed by a 
French poodle. 

“ Little villain ! ” cried Celestine. “ How dare you ap- 
proach without knocking ? Go. Go. Quickly.” 

“ Pardon, Madame,” said the child. “ I thought you 
still absent.” 

“ Is that the child ? ” asked Peter. 

“ Yes,” said Celestine. 

“ Does he know? ” 

“ Nothing. I do not tell him even that I am his 
mother.” 

“ Then you are not prepared to give him a mother's 
care and tenderness ? ” 

“Never. I love him not. He is too like his father. 
And I cannot have it known that I am the mother of a 
child of twelve. It would not be believed, even.” Celes- 
tine took a look at herself in the tall mirror. 

“ Then I suppose you would like some arrangement 
about him ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Peter stayed for nearly an hour with the woman. He 
stayed so long, that for one of the few times in his life he 
was late at a dinner engagement. But when he had left 
Celestine, every detail had been settled. Peter did not 
have an expression of pleasure on his face as he rode 
down-town, nor was he very good company at the dinner 
which he attended that evening. 

The next day did not find him in any better mood. He 
went down-town, and called on an insurance company 
and talked for a while with the president. Then he called 
at a steamship office. After that he spent twenty minutes 
with the head of one of the large schools for boys in the 
°.ity. Then he returned to his office. 

“ A Mr. D’Alloi is waiting for you in your private 


RUNNING AWAY. 197 

office, sir,” he was told. “He said that he was an old 
friend and insisted on going in there.” 

Peter passed into his office. 

Watts cried : “My dear boy, how can I ever ” 

He was holding out his hand, but Peter failed to take 
it, and interrupted him. 

“ I have arranged it all with Madame Lacour,” Peter 
said coldly. “ She sails on La Bretagne on Thursday. 
You are to buy an annuity for three thousand dollars a 
year. In addition, you are to buy an annuity for the boy 
till he is twenty-five, of one thousand dollars a year, 
payable to me as his guardian. This will cost you be- 
tween forty and fifty thousand dollars. I will notify you 
of the amount when the insurance company sends it to 
me. In return for your check, I shall send you the letters 
and other things you sent Madame Lacour, or burn them, 
as you direct. Except for this, the affair is ended. I need 
not detain you further.” 

“Oh, I say, chum. Don’t take it this way,” cried 
Watts. “ Do you think ? ” 

“ I end it as suits me,” said Peter. “ Good-day.” 

“ But, at least you must let me pay you a fee for your 
work ? ” 

Peter turned on Watts quickly, but checked the move- 
ment and the words on his tongue. He only reiterated. 
“ Good-day.” 

“ Well, if you will have it so,” Watts went to the door, 
but hesitated. “Just as you please. If, later, you change 
your mind, send me word. I shan’t cherish any feeling 
for this. I want to be friends. ” 

“Good-day,” said Peter. Watts passed out, closing 
the door. 

Peter sat down at his desk, doing nothing, for nearly an 
hour. How long he would have sat will never be known, 
if his brown study had not been ended by Rivington’s 
entrance. “The Appeals have just handed down their 
decision in the Henley case. We win.” 

“ I thought we should,” said Peter mechanically. 

w Why, Peter ! What’s the matter with you ? You look 
as seedy as ” 

“ As I feet,” said Peter. “ I’m going to stop work and 
take a ride, to see if I can’t knock some of my dulness 
out of me.” Within an hour he was at the Riding Club. 


198 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“ Hello,” said the stable man. “ Twice in one day ? 
You’re not often here at this hour, sir. Which horse will 
you have ? ” 

“ Give me whichever has the most life in him.” 

“ It’s Mutineer has the devil in him always, sir. Though 
it’s not yourself need fear any horse. Only look out for 
the ice.” 

Peter rode into the Park in ten minutes. He met 
Lispenard at the first turn. 

“ Hello 1 It’s not often you are here at this hour.” 
Lispenard reined his horse up alongside. 

“ No,” said Peter. “ I’ve been through a very revolt — 
a very disagreeable experience, and Pve come up here to 
get some fresh air. I don’t want to be sociable.” 

“ That’s right. Truthful as ever. But one word before 
we separate. Keppel has just received two proofs of 
Haden’s last job. He asks awful prices for them, but 
you ought to see them.” 

“ Thanks.” And the two friends separated as only true 
friends can separate. 

Peter rode on, buried in his own thoughts. The park 
was rather empty, for dark comes on early in March, and 
dusk was already in the air. He shook himself presently, 
and set Mutineer at a sharp canter round the larger circle 
of the bridle path. But before they had half swung the 
circle, he was deep in thought again, and Mutineer 
was taking his own pace. Peter deserved to get a stumble 
and a broken neck or leg, but he didn’t. He was saved 
from it by an incident which never won any credit for its 
good results to Peter, however much credit it gained him. 

Peter was so deeply engrossed in his own thoughts that 
he did not hear the clatter of a horse’s feet behind him, 
just as he struck the long stretch of the comparatively 
straight path along the Reservoir. But Mutineer did, and 
pricked up his ears. Mutineer could not talk articulately, 
but all true lovers of horses understand their language. 
Mutineer’s cogitations, transmuted into human speech, 
were something to this effect : 

“Hello ! What’s that horse trying to do? He can’t for 
a moment expect to pass me ! ” 

But the next moment a roan mare actually did pass him, 
going at a swift gallop. 

Mutineer laid his ears back. “The impudence ! *' he 


RUNNING AWAY. 


199 


said. “ Does that little whiffet of a roan mare think she's 
going to show me her heels ? I'll teach her ! ” It is a 
curious fact that both the men and horses who are most 
seldom passed by their kind, object to it most when it 
happens. 

Peter suddenly came back to affairs earthly to find Muti- 
neer just settling into a gait not permitted by Park regula- 
tions. He drew rein, and Mutineer, knowing that the fun 
was up, danced round the path in his bad temper. 

“Really," he said to himself, “if I wasn’t so fond of 
you, I'd give you and that mare, an awful lesson. Hello ! 
not another? This is too much ! " 

The last remarks had relation to more clattering of hoofs. 
In a moment a groom was in view, going also at a gallop. 

“ Hout of the way," cried the groom, to Peter, for Muti- 
neer was waltzing round the path in a way that suggested 
“ no thoroughfare." “ Hi’m after that runaway." 

Peter looked after the first horse, already a hundred feet 
away. He said nothing to groom nor horse, but Mutineer 
understood the sudden change in the reins, even before 
he felt that maddening prick of the spurs. There was a 
moment’s wild grinding of horse’s feet on the slippery 
road and then Mutineer had settled to his long, tremen- 
dous stride. 

“Now, I'll show you,” he remarked, “but if only he 
wouldn’t hold me so damned tight." We must forgive 
Mutineer forswearing. He lived so much with the stable- 
men, that, gentleman though he was, evil communications 
could not be entirely resisted. 

Peter was riding “cool." He knew he could run the 
mare down, but he noticed that the woman, who formed 
the mount, was sitting straight, and he could tell from the 
position of her elbows that she was still pulling on her 
reins, if ineffectually. He thought it best therefore to let 
the mare wind herself before he forced himself up, lest he 
should only make the runaway horse the wilder. So after 
a hundred yards’ run, he drew Mutineer down to the mare’s 
pace, about thirty feet behind her. 

They ran thus for another hundred yards. Then sud- 
denly Peter saw the woman drop her reins, and catch at the 
Saddle. His quick eye told him in a moment what had 
happened. The saddle-girth had broken, or the saddle 
was turning. He dug his spurs into Mutineer, so that the 


200 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


horse, who had never had such treatment, thought that he 
had been touched by two branding irons. He gave a 
furious shake of his ears, and really showed the blood oi 
his racing Kentucky forebears. In fifteen seconds the 
horse was running even with the mare. 

Peter had intended merely to catch the reins of the run- 
away, trusting to his strength to do what a woman’s could 
not. But when he came up alongside, he saw that the sad- 
dle had turned so far that the rider could not keep her 
seat ten seconds longer. So he dropped his reins, bent 
over, and putting his arms about the woman lifted her off 
the precarious seat, and put her in front of him. He held 
her there with one arm, and reached for his reins. But 
Mutineer had tossed them over his head. 

* 4 Mutineer ! ” said Peter, with an inflection of voice 
decidedly commanding. 

“ I covered a hundred yards to your seventy,” Mutineer 
told the roan mare. “On a mile track I could go round 
you twice, without getting out of breath. I could beat 
you now, even with double mount easily. But my Peter 
has dropped the reins and that puts me on my honor. 
Good-bye.” Mutineer checked his great racing stride, 
broke to a canter ; dropped to a trot ; altered that to a 
walk, and stopped. 

Peter had been rather astonished at the weight he had 
lifted. Peter had never lifted a woman before. His 
chief experience in the weight of human-kind had been in 
wrestling matches at the armory, and only the largest and 
most muscular men in the regiment cared to try a bout 
with him. Of course Peter knew as a fact that women 
were lighter than men, but after bracing himself, much as 
he would have done to try the cross-buttock with two 
hundred pounds of bone and brawn, he marvelled much 
at the ease with which he transferred the rider. “She 
can’t weigh over eighty pounds,” he thought. Which 
was foolish, for the woman actually weighed one hundred 
and eighteen, as Peter afterwards learned. 

The woman also surprised Peter in another way. 
Scarcely had she been placed in front of him, than she 
put her arms about his neck and buried her face in his 
shoulder. She was not crying, but she was drawing 
breath in great gasps in a manner which scared Peter 
terribly. Peter had never had a woman cling to him in 


RUNNING AWAY. 


£01 


that way, and frightened as he was, he made three very 
interesting discoveries : 

1. That a man’s shoulder seems planned by nature as a 
resting place for a woman’s head. 

2. That a man’s arm about a woman’s waist is a very 
pleasant position for the arm. 

3. That a pair of woman’s arms round a man’s neck, 
with the clasped hands, even if gloved, just resting on the 
back of his neck, is very satisfying. 

Peter could not see much of the woman. His arm told 
him that she was decidedly slender, and he could just catch 
sight of a small ear and a cheek, whose roundness proved 
the youth of the person. Otherwise he could only see a 
head of very pretty brown hair, the smooth dressing of 
which could not entirely conceal its longing to curl. 

When Mutineer stopped, Peter did not quite know what 
to do. Of course it was his duty to hold the woman till 
she recovered herself. That was a plain duty — and pleas- 
ant. Peter said to himself that he really was sorry for 
her, and thought his sensations were merely the satis- 
faction of a father in aiding his daughter. We must for- 
give his foolishness, for Peter had never been a father, 
and so did not know the parental feeling. 

It had taken Mutineer twenty seconds to come to a 
stand, and for ten seconds after, no change in the con- 
dition occurred. Then suddenly the woman stopped her 
gasps. Peter, who was looking down at her, saw the pale 
cheek redden. The next moment, the arms were taken 
from his neck and the woman was sitting up straight in 
front of him. He got a downward look at the face, and 
he thought it was the most charming he had ever seen. 

The girl kept her eyes lowered, while she said firmly, 
though with traces of breathlessness and tremulo in her 
voice, “Please help me down.” 

Peter was out of his saddle in a moment, and lifted the 
girl down. She staggered slightly on reaching the ground, 
so that Peter said: “You had better lean on me.” 

“No,” said the girl, still looking down, “I will lean 
against the horse.” She rested against Mutineer, who 
looked around to see who was taking this insulting liberty 
with a Kentucky gentleman. Having looked at her he said : 
“ You’re quite welcome, you pretty dear 1 ” Peter thought 
he would like to be a horse, but then it occurred to him 


202 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

that equines could not have had what he had just had, so 
he became reconciled to his lot. 

The girl went on flushing, even after she was safely 
leaning against Mutineer. There was another ten sec- 
onds’ pause, and then she said, still with downcast 
eyes, “I was so frightened, that I did not know what I 
was doing.” 

“You behaved very well,” said Peter, in the most com- 
forting voice he could command. “You held your horse 
splendidly. ” 

“I wasn’t a bit frightened, till the saddle began to 
turn.” The girl still kept her eyes on the ground, and still 
blushed. She was undergoing almost the keenest morti- 
fication possible for a woman. She had for a moment 
been horrified by the thought that she had behaved in 
this way to a groom. But a stranger — a gentleman — was 
worse ! She had not looked at Peter’s face, but his irre- 
proachable riding-rig had been noticed. “ If it had only 
been a policeman,” she thought “What can I say to 
him ? ” 

Peter saw the mortification without quite understanding 
it. He knew, however, it was his duty to ease it, and 
took the best way by giving her something else to think 
about. 

“As soon as you feel able to walk, you had better take 
my arm. We can get a cab at the 72d Street entrance, 
probably. If you don’t feel able to walk, sit down on that 
stone, and I’ll bring a cab. It oughtn’t to takp me ten 
minutes. ” 

“You are very good,” said the girl, raising her eyes, 
and taking a look at Peter’s face for the first time. 

A thrill went through Peter. 

The girl had slate-colored eyes ! 1 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A DREAM. 

Something in Peter’s face seemed to reassure the girl, 
for though she looked down after the glance, she ceased 
leaning against the horse, and said, “ I behaved very 


A DREAM. 


203 

foolishly, of course. Now I will do whatever you think 
best. ” 

Before Peter had recovered enough from his thrill to 
put \yhat he thought into speech, a policeman came riding 
towards them, leading the roan mare. “Any harm 
done ? ” he called. 

“ None, fortunately. Where can we get a cab ? Or 
can you bring one here ? ” 

“I’m afraid there’ll be none nearer than Fifty-ninth 
Street. They leave the other entrances before it’s as dark 
as this.” 

“Nevermind the cab,” said the girl. “If you’ll help 
me to mount, I’ll ride home.” 

“That’s the pluck ! ” said the policeman. 

“ Do you think you had bettter ? ” asked Peter. 

“Yes. I’m not a bit afraid. If you’ll just tighten the 
girth.” 

It seemed to Peter he had never encountered such a 
marvellously fascinating combination as was indicated by 
the clinging position of a minute ago and the erect one of 
the present moment. He tightened the girth with a pull 
that made the roan mare wonder if a steam-winch had 
hold of the end, and then had the pleasure of the little 
foot being placed in his hand for a moment, as he lifted 
the girl into the saddle. 

“I shall ride with you,” he said, mounting instantly. 

“Beg pardon,” said the policeman. “I must take 
your names. We are required to report all such things 
to headquarters.” 

“ Why, Williams, don’t you know me ? ” asked Peter. 

Williams looked at Peter, now for the first time on a 
level with him. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Stirling. It 
was so dark, and you are so seldom here afternoons that 
I didn’t know you.” 

“Tell the chief that this needn’t go on record, nor be 
given to the reporters.” 

“Very well, Mr. Stirling.” 

“I beg your pardon,” said the girl in a frank yet shy 
way, “ but will you tell me your first name? ” 

Peter was rather astonished, but he said “ Peter.” 

“Oh!” cried the girl, looking Peter in the face. “I 
understand it now. I didn’t think I could behave so to a 
stranger ! I must have felt it was you.” She was smiling 


204 the HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

joyfully, and she did not drop her eyes from his. On the 
contrary she held out her hand to him. 

Of course Peter took it. He did not stop to ask if it 
was right or wrong to hold a young girl’s hand. If it was 
wrong, it was certainly a very small one, judging from 
the size of the hand. 

“ I was so mortified ! But if it’s you it’s all right.” 

Peter thought this mood of the girl was both delightful 
and complimentary, but he failed to understand anything 
of it, except its general friendliness. His manner may 
have suggested this, for suddenly the girl said : 

“But of course, you do not know who I am? How 
foolish of me ! I am Leonore D’Alloi.” 

It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Not ? ” he began 

and then stopped. 

“Yes,” said the girl joyfully, as if Peter’s “not” had 
had something delightful in it. 

“But — she’s a child.” 

“I’ll be eighteen next week,” said Leonore, with all 
the readiness of that number of years to proclaim its 
age. 

Peter concluded that he must accept the fact. Watts 
could have a child that old. Having reached this con- 
clusion, he said, “ I ought to have known you by your 
likeness to your mother.” Which was an unintentional 
lie. Her mother’s eyes she had, as well as the long 
lashes ; and she had her mother’s pretty figure, though 
she was taller. But otherwise she was far more like Watts. 
Her curly hair, her curvy mouth, the dimple, and the 
contour of the face were his. Leonore D’Alloi was a far 
greater beauty than her mother had ever been. But to 
Peter, it was merely a renewal of his dream. 

Just at this point the groom rode up. “Beg pardon, 
Miss D’Alloi,” he said, touching his cap. “My ’orse 
went down on a bit of hice.” 

“You are not hurt, Belden? ” said Miss D’Alloi. 

Peter thought the anxious tone heavenly. He rather 
wished he had broken something himself. 

“No. Nor the ’orse.” 

“Then it’s all right. Mr. Stirling, we need not inter- 
rupt your ride. Belden will see me home.” 

Belden see her home ! Peter would see him do it ! 
That was what Peter thought. He said. “ I shall ride 


A DREAM. 205 

with you, of course. ” So they started their horses, the 
groom dropping behind. 

“ Do you want to try it again ? ” asked Mutineer of the 
roan. 

“ No,” said the mare. “ You are too big and strong.” 

Leonore was just saying : “I could hear the pound of 
a horse’s feet behind me, but I thought it was the groom, 
and knew he could never overtake Fly-away. So when 
I felt the saddle begin to slip, I thought I was — was 
going to be dragged — as I once saw a woman in Eng- 
land — Oh ! — and then suddenly I saw a horse’s head, and 
then I felt some one take hold of me so firmly that I didn’t 
have to hold myself at all, and I knew I was safe. Oh, 
how nice it is to be big and strong 1 ” 

Peter thought so too. 

So it is the world over. Peter and Mutineer felt happy 
and proud in their strength, and Leonore and Fly-away 
glorified them for it. Yet in spite of this, as Peter looked 
down at the curly head, from his own and Mutineer’s 
altitude, he felt no superiority, and knew that the slightest 
wish expressed by that small mouth, would be as strong 
with him as if a European army obeyed its commands. 

“What a tremendous horse you have? ” said Leonore. 

“Isn’t he ? ” assented Peter. ‘ ‘ He’s got a bad temper, 
I’m sorry to say, but I’m very fond of him. He was 
given me by my regiment, and was the choice of a very 
dear friend now dead.” 

“Who was that ? ” 

“ No one you know. A Mr. Costell.” 

“Oh, yes I do. I’ve heard all about him.” 

“ What do you know of Mr. Costell ? ” 

“What Miss De Voe told me.” 

“ Miss De Voe ? ” 

“Yes. We saw her both times in Europe. Once at 
Nice, and once in — in 1882— at Maggiore. The first time, 
I was only six, but she used to tell me stories about you 
and the little children in the angle. The last time she 
told me all she could remember about you. We used to 
drift about the lake moonlight nights, and talk about 
you.” 

“ What made that worth doing to you ? ” 

“Oh, from the very beginning, that I can remem- 
ber, papa was always talking about ‘ dear old Peter ' 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


*06 

the talker said the last three words in such a tone, and 
shot such a look up at Peter, half laughing and half 
timid, that in combination they nearly made Peter reel in 
his saddle — “ and you seemed almost the only one of his 
friends he did speak of, so I became very curious about 
you as a little girl, and then Miss De Voe made me more 
interested, so that I began questioning Americans, because 
I was really anxious to learn things concerning you. 
Nearly every one did know something, so I found out a 
great deal about you. ” 

Peter was realizing for the first time in his life, how 
champagne made one feel. 

“Tell me whom you found who knew anything about 
me ? ” 

“Oh, nearly everybody knew something. That is, 
every one we’ve met in the last five years. Before that, 
there was Miss De Voe, and grandpapa, of course, when 
he came over in 1879 ” 

“But,” interrupted Peter, “I don’t think I had met him 
once before that time, except at the Shrubberies.” 

“ No, he hadn’t seen you. But he knew a lot about 
you, from Mr. Lapham and Mr. Avery, and some other 
men who had met you.” 

“ Who else ?” 

“ Miss Leroy, mamma’s bridesmaid, who spent two 
weeks at our villa near Florence, and Dr. Purple, your 
clergyman, who was in the same house with us at Ober- 
Ammergau, and — and — oh the best were Mr. and Mrs. 
Rivington. They were in Jersey, having their honeymoon. 
They told me more than all the rest put together.” 

“ I feel quite safe in their hands. Dorothy and I 
formed a mutual admiration society a good many years 
ago.” 

“She and Mr. Rivington couldn’t say enough good of 
you.” 

“You must make allowance for the fact that they were 
on their wedding journey, and probably saw everything 
rose-colored. ” 

“That was it. Dorothy told me about your giving Mr. 
Rivington a full partnership, in order that Mr. Ogden 
should give his consent.” 

Peter laughed. 

“ Ray swore that he wouldn’t tell. And Dorothy has 


A DREAM , i 


207 

always appeared ignorant. And yet she knew it on her 
wedding trip.” 

“She couldn’t help it. She said she must tell some 
one, she was so happy. So she told mamma and me. 
She showed us your photograph. Papa and mamma said 
it was like you, but I don’t think it is.” 

Again Leonore looked up at him. Leonore, when she 
glanced at a man, had the same frank, fearless gaze that 
her mother had of yore. But she did not look as often nor 
as tong, and did not seem so wrapped up in the man’s 
remarks when she looked. We are afraid even at seven- 
teen that Leonore had discovered that she had very fetch- 
ing eyes, and did not intend to cheapen them, by showing 
them too much. During the whole of this dialogue, Peter 
had had only “come-and-go” glimpses of those eyes. 
He wanted to see more of them. He longed to lean over 
and turn the face up and really look down into them. 
Still, he could see the curly hair, and the little ear, and 
the round of the cheek, and the long lashes. For the 
moment Peter did not agree with Mr. Weller that “life 
isn’t all beer and skittles.” 

“ I’ve been so anxious to meet you. I’ve begged papa 
ever since we landed to take me to see you. And he’s 
promised me, over and over again, to do it, but something 
always interfered. You see, I felt very strange and — and 
queer, not knowing people of my own country, and I felt 
that I really knew you, and wouldn’t have to begin new 
as I do with other people. I do so dread next winter 
when I’m to go into society. I don’t know what I shall 
do. I’ll not know anyone.” 

“You’ll know me.” 

“ But you don’t go into society.” 

“Oh, yes, I do. Sometimes, that is. I shall probably 
go more next winter. I’ve shut myself up too much.” 
This was a discovery of Peter’s made in the last ten 
seconds. 

“ How nice that will be ! And will you promise to 
give me a great deal of attention ? ” 

“You’ll probably want very little. I don’t dance.” 
Peter suddenly became conscious that Mr. Weller was 
right. 

“ But you can learn. Please. I do so love valsing. ” 

Peter almost reeled again at the thought of waltzing 


208 the HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

with Leonore. Was it possible life had such richness in 
it ? Then he said with a bitter note in his voice very un- 
usual to him : 

“I’m afraid I’m too old to learn." 

“Not a bit," said Leonore. “You don’t look any 
older than lots of men I've seen valsing. Young men I 
mean. And I’ve seen men seventy years old dancing in 
Europe.” 

Whether Peter could have kept his seat much longer is to 
be questioned. But fortunately for him, the horses here 
came to a stop in front of a stable. 

“Why," said Leonore, “ here we are already ! What a 
short ride it has been. ’’ 

Peter thought so too, and groaned over the end of it. 
But then he suddenly remembered that Leonore was to 
be lifted from her horse. He became cold with the 
thought that she might jump before he could get to her, 
and he was off his horse, and by her side with the quick- 
ness of a military training. He put his hands up, and for 
a moment had — well, Peter could usually express himself 
but he could not put that moment into words. And it 
was not merely that Leonore had been in his arms for a 
moment, but that he had got a good look up into her 
eyes. 

“I wish you would take my horse round to the Riding 
Club," he told the groom. “ I wish to see Miss D’Alloi 
home. " 

‘‘ Thank you very much, but my maid is here in the 
brougham, so I need not trouble you. Good-bye, and 
thank you. Oh, thank you so much ! " She stood very 
close to Peter, and looked up into his eyes with her own. 
u There’s no one 1 would rather have had save me." 

She stepped into the brougham, and Peter closed the 
door. He mounted his horse again, and straightening 
himself up, rode away. 

“ Hi thought," remarked the groom to the stableman, 
“that ’e didn’t know ’ow to sit ’is ’orse, but ’e’s all right, 
arter all. ’E rides like ha ’orse guards capting, w’en 'e 
don’t ’ave a girl to bother ’im." 

Would that girl bother him? 


a friends: 


20Q 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

“ FRIENDS.’’ 

At first blush, judging from Peter's behavior, the girl 
was not going to bother him. Peter left his horse at the 
stable, and taking a hansom, went to his club. There he 
spent a calm half hour over the evening’ papers. His 
dinner was eaten with equal coolness. Not till he had 
reached his study did he vary his ordinary daily routine. 
Then, instead of working or reading, he rolled a comfort- 
able chair up to the fire, put on a fresh log or two, 
opened a new box of Bock's, and lighting one, settled 
back in the chair. How many hours he sat and how 
many cigars he smoked are not recorded, lest the statement 
should make people skeptical of the narrative. 

Of course Peter knew that life had not lost its troubles. 
He was not fooling himself as to what lay before him. 
He was not callous to the sufferings already endured. 
But he put them, past, and to come, from him for one 
evening, and sat smoking lazily with a dreamy look on 
his face. He had lately been studying the subject of 
Asiatic cholera, but he did not seem to be thinking of 
that. He had just been through what he called a “ revolt- 
ing experience," but it is doubtful if he was thinking of 
that. Whatever his thoughts were, they put a very dif- 
ferent look on his face than that which it used to wear 
while he studied blank walls. 

When Peter sat down, rather later than usual at his office 
desk the next morning, he took a sheet of paper, and 
wrote, “Dear sir," upon it. Then he tore it up. He took 
another and wrote, “My dear Mr. D’Alloi. " He tore 
that up. Another he began, “ Dear Watts." A moment 
later it was in the paper basket. * ‘ My dear friend, " served 
to bring a similar fate to the fourth. Then Peter rose and 
strolled about his office aimlessly. Finally he went out 
into a gallery running along the various rooms, and, open* 
ing a door, put his head in. 

14 


210 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“You hypocritical scoundrel,” he said. “You swore 
to me that you would never tell a living soul.” 

“Well ? ” came a very guilty voice back. 

“And Dorothy’s known all this time.” 

Dead silence. 

“And you’ve both been as innocent as — as you were 
guilty.” 

“ Look here, Peter, I can’t make you understand, 
because you’ve — you’ve never been on a honeymoon. 
Really, old fellow, I was so happy over your generosity 
in giving me a full share, when I didn’t bring a tenth of 
the business, and so happy over Dorothy, that if I hadn’t 
told her, I should have simply — bust. She swore she’d 
never tell. And now she’s told you ! ” 

“No, but she told some one else.” 

“Never ! ” 

“Yes.” 

“Then she’s broken her word. She ” 

“The Pot called the Kettle black.” 

“But to tell one’s own wife is different. I thought she 
could keep a secret. ” 

“How can you expect a person to keep a secret when 
you can’t keep it yourself?” Peter and Ray were both 
laughing. 

Ray said to himself, “Peter has some awfully knotty 
point on hand, and is resting the brain tissue for a mo- 
ment.” Ray had noticed, when Peter interrupted him 
during office hours, on matters not relating to business, 
that he had a big or complex question in hand. 

Peter closed the door and went back to his room. Then 
he took a fifth sheet of paper, and wrote : 

“ Watts : A day’s thought has brought a change of feeling on my 
part. Neither can be the better for alienation or unkind thoughts. I 
regret already my attitude of yesterday. Let us cancel all that has hap- 
pened since our college days, and put it aside as if it had never occurred. 

Peter.” 

Just as he had finished this, his door opened softly. 
Peter did not hear it, but took the letter up and read it 
slowly. 

“ Boo ! ” 

Peter did not jump at the Boo. He looked up very 
calmly, but the moment he looked up, jump he did. He 


FRIENDS r 


211 


Jumped so that he was shaking hands before the impetus 
was lost. 

‘‘This is the nicest kind of a surprise,” he said. 

“ Bother you, you phlegmatic old cow,” cried a merry 
voice. ‘ ‘ Here we have spent ten minutes palavering your 
boy, in order to make him let us surprise you, and then 
when we spring it on you, you don’t budge. Wasn’t it 
shabby treatment, Dot ? ” 

“You’ve disappointed us awfully, Mr. Stirling.” 

Peter was shaking hands more deliberately with Leonore 
than he had with Watts. He had been rather clever in 
shaking hands with him first, so that he need not hurry 
himself over the second. So he had a very nice moment 
— all too short — while Leonore’s hand lay in his. He said, 
in order to prolong the moment, without making it too 
marked, “It will take something more frightful than you, 
Miss D’Alloi, to make me jump.” Then Peter was sorry 
he had said it, for Leonore dropped her eyes. 

“Now, old man, give an account of yourself.” Watts 
was speaking jauntily, but not quite as easily as he usually 
did. “ Here Leonore and I waited all last evening, and 
you never came. So she insisted that we come this 
morning.” 

“I don’t understand? ” Peter was looking at Leonore 
as if she had made the remark. Leonore was calmly ex- 
amining Peter’s room. 

“ Why, even a stranger would have called last night to 
inquire about Dot’s health, after such an accident. But 
for you not to do it, was criminal. If you have aught to 
say why sentence should not now be passed on you, 
speak now or forever — no — that’s the wedding ceremony, 
isn’t it ? Not criminal sentence — though, on second 
thought, there’s not much difference.” 

“Did you expect me, Miss D’Alloi?” 

Miss D’Alloi was looking at a shelf of law books with 
her back to Peter, and was pretending great interest in 
them. She did not turn, but said “Yes.” 

“I wish I had known that,” said Peter, with the sin- 
cerest regret in his voice. 

Miss D’Alloi’s interest in legal literature suddenly ceased. 
She turned and Peter had a momentary glimpse of those 
wonderful eyes. Either his words or tone had evidently 
pleased Miss D’Alloi. The corners of her mouth were 


212 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING \ 


curving upwards. She made a deep courtesy to him and 
said : “ You will be glad to know, Mr. Stirling, that Miss 

D’Alloi has suffered no serious shock from her runaway, 
and passed a good night. It seemed to Miss D’Alloi that 
the least return she could make for Mr. Stirling’s kindness, 
was to save him the trouble of coming to inquire about 
Miss D’Alloi’s health, and so leave Mr. Stirling more time 
to his grimy old law books. ” 

“ There, sir, I hope you are properly crushed for your 
wrong-doing, ” cried Watts. 

“ I’m not going to apologize for not coming,” said Peter, 
“ for that is my loss ; but I can say that I’m sorry.” 

“ That’s quite enough,” said Leonore. “ I thought per- 
haps you didn’t want to be friends. And as I like to have 
such things right out, I made papa bring me down this 
morning so that I could see for myself.” She spoke with 
a frankness that seemed to Peter heavenly, even while he 
grew cold at the thought that she should for a moment 
question his desire to be friends. 

“Of course you and Peter will be friends,” said Watts. 

“But mamma told me last night — after we went up- 
stairs, that she was sure Mr. Stirling would never call. ” 

“Never, Dot ? ” cried Watts. 

“Yes. And when I asked her why, she wouldn’t tell 
me at first, but at last she said it was because he was so 
unsociable. I shan’t be friends with any one who won’t 
come to see me.” Leonore was apparently looking at the 
floor, but from under her lashes she was looking at some- 
thing else. 

Whatever Peter may have felt, he looked perfectly cool. 
Too cool, Leonore thought. “ I’m not going to make any 
vows or protestations of friendship,” he said. “I won’t 
even pledge myself to come and see you, Miss D’Alloi. 
Remember, friendship comes from the word free. If we 
are to be friends, we must each leave the other to act 
freely.” 

“Well,” said Leonore, “ that is, I suppose, a polite way 
of saying that you don’t intend to come. Now I want to 
know why you won’t ? ” 

“The reasons will take too long to explain to you now, 
so I’ll defer the telling till the first time I call on you.” 
Peter was smiling down at her. 

Miss D’Alloi looked up at Peter, to see what meaning 


" FRIENDS r 


2*3 

his face gave his last remark. Then she held out her two 
hands. “ Of course we are to be the best of friends,” she 
said. Peter got a really good look down into those eyes 
as they shook hands. 

The moment this matter had been settled, Leonore’s man- 
ner changed. “ So this is the office of the great Peter 
Stirling ? ” she said, with the nicest tone of interest in her 
voice, as it seemed to Peter. 

“It doesn't look it,” said Watts. “By George, with 
the business people say your firm does, you ought to do 
better than this. It’s worse even than our old Harvard 
quarters, and those were puritanical enough.” 

“There is a method in its plainness. If you want style, 
go into Ogden's and Rivington's rooms.” 

“ Why do you have the plain office, Mr. Stirling? ” 

“I have a lot of plain people to deal with, and so I try 
to keep my room simple, to put them at their ease. I’ve 
never heard of my losing a client yet, because my room 
is as it is, while I should have frightened away some if I 
had gone in for the same magnificence as my partners.” 

“But I say, chum, I should think that is the sort you 
would want to frighten away. There can't be any money 
in their business ? ” 

“We weren’t talking of money. We were talking of 
people. I am very glad to say, that with my success, 
there has been no change in my relations with my ward. 
They all come to me here, and feel perfectly at home, 
whether they come as clients, as co-workers, or merely as 
friends. ” 

“Ho, ho,” laughed Watts. “You wily old fox! See 
the four bare walls. The one shelf of law books. The 
one cheap cabinet of drawers. The four simple chairs, 
and the plain desk. Behold the great politician ! The 
man of the people.” 

Peter made no reply. But Leonore said to him, “ I'm 
glad you help the poor people still, Mr. Stirling,” and gave 
Peter another glimpse of those eyes. Peter didn't mind 
after that. 

“Look here, Dot,” said Watts. “You mustn't call chum 
Mr. Stirling. That won’t do. Call him — um — call him 
Uncle Peter.” 

* ‘ I won’t, ” said Leonore, delighting Peter thereby. ‘ ‘ Let 
me see. What shall I call you ? ” she asked of Peter. 


214 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ Honey," laughed Watts. 

“What shall I call you ? ” Miss D’Alloi put her head on 
one side, and looked at Peter out of the corners of her eyes. 

“You must decide that, Miss D’Alloi. ” 

“I suppose I must. I — think — I — shall — call — you — 
Peter.” She spoke hesitatingly till she said his name, but 
that went very smoothly. Peter on the spot fell in love 
with the five letters as she pronounced them. 

“Plain Peter?” inquired Watts. 

“ Now what will you call me ? ” 

“ Miss D’Alloi,” said Peter. 

“ No. You — are — to — call — me — call — me 

“Miss D’Alloi,” re-affirmed Peter. 

“Then I will call you Mr. Stirling, Peter.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you said you’d call me Peter.” 

“ But not if you won’t ” 

“ You made no condition at the time of promise. Shall 
I show you the law ? ” 

“No. And I shall not call you Peter, any more, Peter.” 

“Then I shall prosecute you.” 

“But I should win the case, for I should hire a friend 
of mine to defend me. A man named Peter.” Leonore 
sat down in Peter’s chair. “I’m going to write him at 
once about it.” She took one of his printed letter sheets 
and his pen, and, putting the tip of the holder to her lips 
(Peter has that pen still), thought for a moment. Then 
she wrote : 

Dear Peter : 

I am threatened with a prosecution. Will you defend me ? Address 
your reply to “ Dear Leonore.” 

Leonore D’Alloi. 

i{ Now ” she said to Peter, “ you must write me a letter in 
reply. Then you can have this note.” Leonore rose with 
the missive in her hand. 

‘ * I never answer letters till I’ve received them. ” Peter 
took hold of the slender wrist, and possessed himself of 
the paper. Then he sat down at his desk and wrote on 
another sheet : 

Dear Miss D’Alloi : 

I will defend you faithfully and always. 


Peter Stirling. 


* FRIENDS r 


2I 5 

“That isn't what I said,” remarked Miss D’Alloi. 
“But I suppose it will have to do.” 

“ You forget one important thing.” 

“What is that ? ” 

“My retaining fee.” 

1 ‘ Oh, dear, ” sighed Leonore. “My allowance is nearly 
gone. Don’t you ever do work for very, very poor people, 
for nothing ? ” 

“Not if their poverty is pretence.” 

“ Oh, but mine isn’t. Really. See. Here is my purse. 
Look for yourself. That’s all I shall have till the first of 
the month.” 

She gave Peter her purse. He was still sitting at his 
desk, and he very deliberately proceeded to empty the 
contents out on his blotter. He handled each article. 
There was a crisp ten-dollar bill, evidently the last of those 
given by the bank at the beginning of the month. There 
were two one-dollar bills. There was a fifty-cent piece, 
two quarters and a dime. A gold German twenty-mark 
piece, about eight inches of narrow crimson ribbon, and 
a glove button, completed the contents. Peter returned 
the American money and the glove button to the purse 
and handed it back to Miss D’Alloi. 

“ You've forgotten the ribbon and the gold piece,” said 
Leonore. 

“You were never more mistaken in your life,” replied 
Peter, with anything but legal guardedness concerning 
unprovable statements. He folded up the ribbon neatly 
and put it, with the coin, in his waistcoat pocket. 

“Oh,” said Leonore, “I can’t let you have that 
That’s my luck-piece.” 

“Is it?” Peter expressed much surprise blended with 
satisfaction in his tone. 

“Yes. You don’t want to take my good luck.” 

“ I will think it over, and write you a legal opinion later. 

“ Please 1 ” Miss D’Alloi pleaded. 

“ That is just what I have succeeded in doing — for my- 
self.” 

“ But I want my luck-piece. I found it in a crack of 
the rocks crossing the Ghemi. And I must have the 
ribbon. I need it to match for a gown it goes with.” 
Miss D’Alloi put true anxiety into her voice, whatever she 
really felt 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


ti6 

“ I shall be glad to help you match it, ” said Peter, “ and 
any time you send me word, I will go shopping with you. 
As for your luck, I shall keep that for the present. ” 

“Now I know,” said Leonore crossly, “why lawyers 
have such a bad reputation. They are perfect thieves ! n 
She looked at Peter with the corners of her mouth drawn 
down. He gazed at her with a very grave look on his 
face. They eyed each other steadily for a moment, and 
then the corners of Leonore’s mouth suddenly curled up- 
wards. She tried hard for a moment to keep serious. 
Then she gave up and laughed. Then they both 
laughed. 

Many people will only see an amusing side to the 
dialogue here so carefully recorded. If so, look back to 
the time when everything that he or she said was worth 
listening to. Or if there has never been a he or a she, 
imitate Peter, and wait. It is worth waiting for. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE HERMITAGE. 

It is not to be supposed from this last reflection of ours, 
that Leonore was not heart-whole. Leonore had merely 
had a few true friends, owing to her roving life, and at 
seventeen a girl craves friends. When, therefore, the return 
to America was determined upon, she had at once decided 
that Peter and she would be the closest of friends. That 
she would tell him all her confidences, and take all her 
troubles to him. Miss De Voe and Dorothy had told her 
about Peter, and from their descriptions, as well as from 
her father’s reminiscences, Leonore had concluded that 
Peter was just the friend she had wanted for so long. 
That Leonore held her eyes down, and tried to charm yet 
tantalize her intended friend, was because Leonore could 
not help it, being only seventeen and a girl. If Leonore 
had felt anything but a friendly interest and liking, 
blended with much curiosity, in Peter, she never would 
have gone to see him in his office, and would never have 
talked and laughed so frankly with him. 

As for Peter, he did not put his feelings into good 


THE HERMITAGE. 


317 

docketed shape. He did not attempt to label them at alL 
He had had a delicious half-hour yesterday. He had 
decided, the evening before, that he must see those slate- 
colored eyes again, if he had to go round the world in 
pursuit of them. How he should do it, he had not even 
thought out, till the next morning. He had understood 
very clearly that the owner of those slate-colored eyes 
was really an unknown quantity to him. He had under* 
stood, too, that the chances were very much against his 
caring to pursue those eyes after he knew them better 
But he was adamant that he must see those eyes again, 
and prove for himself whether they were but an ignis 
fatuus , or the radiant stars that Providence had cast for 
the horoscope of Peter Stirling. He was studying those 
eyes, with their concomitants, at the present time. He 
was studying them very coolly, to judge from his appear- 
ance and conduct. Yet he was enjoying the study in a 
way that he had never enjoyed the study of somebody 
“On Torts.” Somebody “On Torts,” never looked like 
that. Somebody “ On Torts,” never had luck-pieces, and 
silk ribbons. Somebody “On Torts,” never wrote letters 
and touched the end of pens to its lips. Somebody “ On 
Torts,” never courtesied, nor looked out from under its 
eyelashes, nor called him Peter. 

While this investigation had been progressing, Watts 
had looked at the shelf of la w books, had looked out of 
the window, had whistled, and had yawned. Finally, in 
sheer ennui he had thrown open a door, and looked to 
see what lay beyond. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he cried. “All is discovered. See ! Here 
sits Peter Stirling, the ward politician, enthroned in Jef- 
fersonian simplicity. But here, behind the arras, sits 
Peter Stirling, the counsellor of banks and railroads, in 
the midst of all the gorgeousness of the golden East.* 
Watts passed into the room beyond. 

“What does he mean, Peter ? ” 

“He has gone into my study. Would you like ” 

He was interrupted by Watts calling, “ Come in here. 
Dot, and see how the unsociable old hermit bestows him- 
self.” 

So Leonore and Peter followed Watts’s lead. The room 
into which they went was rather a curious one. It was at 
least twenty-five feet square, having 1 four windows, two 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


218 

looking* out on Broadway, and two on the side street. It 
had one other door besides that by which they had en- 
tered. Here the ordinary quality ended. Except for the 
six openings already noted and a large fireplace, the 
walls were shelved from floor to ceiling (which was not 
a low one), with dusky oak shelving. The ceiling was 
panelled in dark oak, and the floor was covered with a 
smooth surface of the same wood. Yet though the 
shelves were filled with books, few could be seen, for on 
every upright of the shelving, were several frames of oak, 
hinged as one sees them in public galleries occasionally, 
and these frames contained etchings, engravings, and paint- 
ings. Some were folded back against the shelves. 
Others stood out at right angles to them, and showed that 
the frames ^*ere double ones, both sides containing some* 
thing. Four easy-chairs, three less easy chairs, and a 
large table desk, likewise of dusky oak, were the sole other 
fittings of the room, if we except two large polar bear 
skins. 

“Oh,” cried Leonore, looking about, “ Fm so glad to 
see this. People have told me so much about your 
rooms. And no two of them ever agreed.” 

“No,” said Peter. “It seems a continual bone of 
contention with my friends. They scold me because 1 
shelved it to the ceiling, because I put it in one-colored 
wood, because I framed my pictures and engravings 
this way, and because I haven’t gor.e in for rugs, and 
bric-a-brac, and the usual furnishings. At times I have 
really wondered, from their determination to change 
things, whether it was for them to live in, or for my 
use ? ” 

“ It is unusual,” said Leonore, reluctantly, and evidently 
selecting a word that should not offend Peter. 

“You ought to be hung for treating fine pictures so,” 
said Watts. 

“ I had to give them those broad flat mats, because the 
books gave no background.” 

“It’s — it’s — ” Leonore hesitated. “ It's not so startling, 
after a moment.” 

“You see they had to hang this way, or go unhung. 
I hadn’t wall space for both pictures and books. And by 
giving a few frames a turn, occasionally, I can always 
have fresh pictures to look at.” 


THE HERMITAGE* 


219 

44 Look here, Dot, here’s a genufne Rembrandt’s 
* Three Crosses,’” called Watts. “I didn’t know, old 
man, that you were such a connoisseur.” 

“I’m not,” said Peter. “ I’m fond of such things, but 
I never should have had taste or time to gather these.” 

“ Then how did you get them ? ” 

“A friend of mine — a man of exquisite taste — gathered 
them. He lost his money, and I bought them of him.” 

“That was Mr. Le Grand?” asked Leonore, ceasing 
her study of the “Three Crosses.” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mrs. Rivington told me about it.” 

“ It must have been devilish hard for him to part with 
such a collection,” said Watts. 

“ He hasn’t really parted with them. He comes down 
here constantly, and has a good time over them. It was 
partly his scheme to arrange them this way.” 

“And are the paintings his, too, Peter?” 

Peter could have hugged her for the way she said 
Peter. “ No,” he managed to remark. “ I bought some 
of them, and Miss De Voe and Lispenard Ogden the 
others. People tell me I spoil them by the flat framing, and 
the plain, broad gold mats. But it doesn’t spoil them to 
me. I think the mixture of gold mats and white mats 
breaks the monotony. And the variation just neutralizes 
the monotone which the rest of the room has. But of 
course that is my personal equation.” 

“Then this room is the real taste of the ‘plain man, 
eh? ” inquired Watts. 

“Really, papa, it is plain. Just as simple as can 
be.” 

“Simple! Yes, sweet simplicity ! Three-thousand- 
dollar-etching simplicity ! Millet simplicity I Oh, yes. 
Peter’s a simple old dog.” 

“No, but the woodwork and the furniture. Isn’t 
this an enticing chair? I must try it.” And Leonore 
almost dissolved from view in its depths. Peter has that 
chair still. He would probably knock the man down 
who offered to buy it. 

It occurred to Peter that since Leonore was so extremely 
near the ground, and was leaning back so far, that she 
could hardly help but be looking up. So he went and 
Stood in front of the fireplace, and looked down at 


220 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


her. He pretended that his hands were cold. Watts 
perhaps was right. Peter was not as simple as people 
thought. 

It seemed to Peter that he had never had so much to 
see, all at once, in his life. There were the occasional 
glimpses of the eyes (for Leonore, in spite of her posi- 
tion, did manage to cover the larger part of them) not 
one of which must be missed. Then there was her 
mouth. That would have been very restful to the eye ; 
if it hadn’t been for the distracting chin below it. Then 
there were the little feet, just sticking out from under- 
neath the tailor-made gown, making Peter think of Her- 
rick’s famous lines. Finally there were those two hands ! 
Leonore was very deliberately taking off her gloves. 
Peter had not seen those hands ungloved yet, and waited 
almost breathlessly for the unveiling. He decided that 
he must watch and shake hands at parting before Leonore 
put those gloves on again. 

“Isay,” said Watts, “how did you ever manage to 
get such a place here ? ” 

“I was a tenant for a good many years of the insur- 
ance company that owns the building, and when it came 
to rebuild, it had the architect fit this floor for me just as 
I wished it. So I put our law-offices in front and arranged 
my other rooms along the side street. Would you like to 
see them ? ” Peter asked this last question very obviously 
of Leonore. 

“Very much.” 

So they passed through the other door, to a little square 
hall, lighted by a skylight, with a stairway going up to 
the roof. 

“ I took the upper floor, so as to get good air and the 
view of the city and the bay, which is very fine,” Peter 
said. “And I have a staircase to the roof, so that in 
good weather I can go up there.” 

“I wondered what the great firm was doing up ten 
stories,” said Watts. 

“Ogden and Rivington have been very good in yield- 
ing to my idiosyncracies. This is my mealing closet.” 

It was a room nine feet square, panelled, ceiled and 
floored in mahogany, and the table and six chairs were 
made of the same material. 

“So this is what the papers call the ‘ Stirling political 


THE HERMITAGE. 


221 


incubator ? ’ It doesn’t look like a place for hatching 
dark plots,” said Watts. 

“ Sometimes I have a little dinner here. Never more 
than six, however, for it’s too small.” 

“I say, Dot, doesn’t this have a jolly cosy feeling? 
Couldn’t one sit here blowy nights, with the candles lit, 
eating nuts and telling stories ? It makes me think of the 
expression, ‘ snug as a bug.’” 

“ Miss Leroy told me, Peter, what a reputation your 
dinners had, and how every one was anxious to be in- 
vited just once,” said Leonore. 

“ But not a second time, old man. You caught Dot’s 
inference, I hope? Once is quite enough.” 

“ Peter, will you invite me some day ? ” 

“ Would he ? ” Peter longed to tell her that the place 
and everything it contained, including its owner — Then 
Peter said to himself, “You really don’t know anything 
about her. Stop your foolishness.” Still Peter knew that 
— that foolishness was nice. He said, “ People only care 
for my dinners because they are few and far between, and 
their being w T ay down here in the city, after business 
hours, makes them something to talk about. Society 
wants badly something to talk about most of the time. 
Of course, my friends are invited.” Peter looked down at 
Leonore, and she understood, without his saying so, that 
she was to be a future guest. 

“ How do you manage about the prog, chum?” 

“ Mr. Le Grand had a man — a Maryland darky — whom 
he turned over to me. He looks after me generally, but 
his true forte is cooking. For oysters and fish and game 
I can’t find his equal. And, as I never attempt very elab- 
orate dinners, he cooks and serves for a party of six in 
very good shape. We are not much in haste down here 
after six, because it’s so still and quiet. The hurry’s gone 
up-town to the social slaves. Suppose you stay and try 
his skill at lunch to-day? My partners generally are 
with me, and J enifer always has something good for them.** 

“ By all means,” said Watts. 

But Leonore said : “ No. We mustn’t make a nuisance 
of ourselves the first time we come.” Peter and Watts 
tried to persuade her, but she was not persuadable. Leo- 
nore had no intention, no matter how good a time it 
meant, of lunching sola with four men. 


222 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“I think we must be going,” she said. 

“ You mustn’t go without seeing the rest of my quar- 
ters,” said Peter, hoping to prolong the visit. 

Leonore was complaisant to that extent. So they went 
into the pantry, and Leonore proceeded, apparently, to 
show her absolute ignorance of food matters under the 
pretext that she was displaying great housekeeping knowl- 
edge. She told Peter that he ought to keep his cham- 
pagne on ice. “ That champagne will spoil if it isn’t 
kept on ice.” She complained because some bottles of 
Burgundy had dust on them. “ That’s not merely un- 
tidy,” she said, “but it’s bad for the wine. It ought to 
be stood on end, so that the sediment can settle. ” She 
criticised the fact that a brace of canvas-backs were on 
ice. “All your game should be hung,” she said. She 
put her finger or her eyes into every drawer and cup- 
board, and found nothing to praise. She was absolutely 
grave over it, but before long Peter saw the joke and en- 
tered into it. It was wonderful how good some of the 
things that she touched tasted later. 

Then they went into Peter’s sleeping-room. Leonore 
said it was very ordinary, but promptly found two things 
to Interest her. 

“ Do you take care of your window flowers ? ” 

“ No. Mrs. Costell comes down to lunch with me once 
a week, and potters with them. She keeps all the win- 
dows full of flowers — perhaps you have noticed them in 
the other rooms, as well ? ” 

“Yes. I liked them, but I didn’t think they could be 
yours. They grow too well for a man.” 

“ It seems as if Mrs. Costell had only to look at a 
plant, and it breaks out blossoming,” Peter replied. 

“ What a nice speech,” said Leonore. 

“ It’s on a nice subject,” Peter told her. “ When you 
have that, it’s very easy to make a nice speech. ” 

4 ‘ I want to meet Mrs. Costell. I’ve heard all about her. ” 

The second point of interest concerned the contents of 
what had evidently been planned as an umbrella-stand. 

“Why do you have three swords ? ” she asked, taking 
the handsomest from its resting place. 

“ So that I can kill more people.” 

“ Why, Dot, you ought to know that an officer wants 
a service sword and a dress-sword.” 


THE HERMITAGE, 


223 


“ But these are all dress-swords. I’m afraid you are 
very proud of your majorship.” 

Peter only smiled a reply down at her. 

“Yes,” said Leonore, “I have found out your weak- 
ness at last. You like gold lace and fixings.” 

Still Peter only smiled. 

“ This sword is presented to Captain Peter Stirling in 
recognition of his gallant conduct at Hornellsville, July 
25, 1877,” Leonore read on the scabbard. “What did you 
do at Hornellsville?” 

“ Various things.” 

“ But what did you do to get the sword? M 

“ My duty ! ” 

“Tell me?” 

“ I thought you knew all about me.” 

“ I don’t know this.” 

Peter only smiled at her. 

“Tell me. If you don’t, somebody else will. Please.” 

“ Why, Dot, these are all presentation swords.” 

“ Yes,” said Peter ; “and so gorgeous that I don’t dare 
use them. I keep the swords I wear at the armory.” 

“ Are you going to tell me what you did to get them ? ” 

“ That one was given me by my company when I was 
made captain. That was subscribed for by some friends. 
The one you have was given me by a railroad.” 

“ For what? ” 

“ For doing my duty.” 

“ Come, papa. We’ll go home.” 

Peter surrendered. “ There were some substitutes for 
strikers in freight cars that were fitted up with bunks. 
The strikers fastened the doors on them, and pushed them 
into a car-shed.” 

“And what did you do ? ” 

“We rolled the cars back.” 

“ I don’t think that was much. Nothing to give a 
sword for. Now, have you anything more to show 
us ? ” 

“ No. I have a spare room, and Jenifer has a kitchen 
and sleeping place beyond, but they are not worth show- 
ing.” 

They went out into the little square hall, and so into 
the study. Leonore began unfolding her gloves. 

“I’ve had a very nice time,” she said “I think I 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


224. 

shall come again very often. I like down-town New 
York.' 7 Leonore was making her first trip to it, so that 
she spoke from vast knowledge. 

“I can’t tell you how pleasant it has been to me. It 
isn't often that such sunshine gets in here," said Peter. 

4 ‘ Then you do prefer sunshine to grimy old law books ? ' 5 
inquired Leonore, smiling demurely. 

“Some sunshine,” said Peter, meaningly. 

“Wherever there has been sunshine there ought to be 
*lots of flowers. I have a good mind — yes, I will — leave 
you these violets." Leonore took a little bunch that she 
had worn near her throat and put them and her hand in 
Peter’s. And she hadn’t put her glove on yet ! Then 
she put her gloves on, and Peter shook hands. Then he 
remembered that he ought to see them to the elevator, so 
he took them out — and shook hands again. After that he 
concluded it was his duty to see them to the carriage — 
and he shook hands again. 

Peter was not an experienced hand, but he was doing 
very well 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

THE DUDE. 

Just as Peter came back to his office, his lunch was an- 
nounced. 

“ What makes you look so happy? ” asked Ray. 

“ Being so," said Peter, calmly. 

“ What a funny old chap he is ? " Ray remarked to Og° 
den, as they went back to work. “ He brought me his 
opinion, just after lunch, in the H all-Seely e case. I sup- 
pose he had been grubbing all the morning over those 
awful figures, and a tougher or dryer job, you couldn’t 
make. Yet he came in to lunch looking as if he was walk- 
ing on air." 

When Peter returned to his office, he would have pre- 
ferred to stop work and think for a bit. He wanted to 
hold those violets, and smell them now and then. He 
wished to read that letter over again. He longed to 
have a look at that bit of ribbon and gold. But he re- 
sisted temptation. He said : ‘ ‘ Peter Stirling, go to work.* 


THE DUDE . 


225 

So all the treasures were put in a drawer of his study 
table, and Peter sat down at his office desk. First, after 
tearing up his note to Watts, he wrote another, as follows ; 

Watts : 

Y ou can understand why I did not call last night, or bind myself as 
to the future. I shall hope to receive an invitation to call from Mrs. 
D’Alloi. How, I must leave to you ; but you owe me this much, and it 
Is the only payment I ask of you. Otherwise let us bury all that has 
occurred since our college days, forever. 

Peter. 

Then he ground at the law till six, when he swung 
his clubs and dumb-bells for ten minutes ; took a shower ; 
dressed himself, and dined. Then he went into his study, 
and opened a drawer. Did he find therein a box of 
cigars, or a bunch of violets, gold-piece, ribbon and sheet 
of paper? One thing is certain. Peter passed another 
evening without reading or working. And two such 
idle evenings could not be shown in another week of his 
life for the last twenty years. 

The next day Peter was considerably nearer earth. 
Not that he didn’t think those eyes just as lovely, and 
had he been thrown within their radius, he would 
probably have been as strongly influenced as ever. But 
he was not thrown within their influence, and so his 
strong nature and common sense reasserted themselves. 
He took his coffee, his early morning ride, and then his 
work, in their due order. After dinner, that evening, he 
only smoked one cigar. When he had done that, he re- 
marked to himself — apropos of the cigars, presumably — 
“ Peter, keep to your work. Don’t burn yourself again.” 
Then his face grew very firm, and he read a frivolous 
book entitled : “Neun atiologische und prophylactische 

Satze.. uber die Cholersepidemien in Ostindien,” till 

nearly one o’clock. 

The following day was Sunday. Peter went to church, 
and in the afternoon rode out to Westchester to pass 
the evening there with Mrs. Costell. Peter thought his 
balance was quite recovered. Other men have said the 
same thing. The fact that they said so, proved that they 
were by no means sure of themselves. 

This was shown very markedly on Monday in Peter’s 
case, for after lunch he did not work as steadily as he 
had done in the morning hours. He was restless. Twice 
tS 


226 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


he pressed his lips, and started in to work very, very 
hard — and did it for a time. Then the restlessness would 
come on again. Presently he took to looking at his 
watch. Then he would snap it to, and go to work again, 
with a great determination in his face, only to look at the 
watch again before long. Finally he touched his bell. 

“Jenifer,” he said, “I wish you would rub off my 
spurs, and clean up my riding trousers. ” 

“For lohd, sar, I done dat dis day yesserday.” 

“Never mind, then,” said Peter. “Tell Curzon to ring 
me up a hansom.” 

When Peter rode into the park he did not vacillate. 
He put his horse at a sharp canter, and started round the 
path. But he had not ridden far when he suddenly 
checked his horse, and reined him up with a couple of 
riders. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said frankly. 
Peter had not ceased to be straightforward. 

“Hello ! This is nice,” said Watts. 

“Don’t you think it’s about time?” said Leonore. 
Leonore had her own opinion of what friendship consisted. 
She was not angry with Peter — not at all. But she did 
not look at him. 

Peter had drawn his horse up to the side on which 
Leonore was riding. “That is just what I thought,” he 
said deliberately, “ and that’s why I’m here now. ” 

“How long ago did that occur to you, please?” said 
Leonore, with dignity. 

“About the time it occurred to me that you might ride 
here regularly afternoons.” 

“ Don’t you ? ” Leonore was mollifying. 

“No. I like the early morning, when there are fewer 
people. ” 

“You unsociable old hermit,” exclaimed Watts. 

“ But now ? ” asked Leonore. 

When Leonore said those two words Peter had not yet 
had a sight of those eyes. And he was getting desperately 
anxious to see them. So he replied: “Now I shall ride 
in the afternoons.” 

He was rewarded by a look. The sweetest kind of a 
look. “Now, that is very nice, Peter,” said Leonore. 
“ If we see each other every day in the Park, we can tell 
each other everything that we are doing or thinking 
about So we will be very good friends for sure.” 


THE DUDE. 


227 

Leonore spoke and looked as if this was the pleasantest 
of possibilities, and Peter was certain it was. 

“I say, Peter,” said Watts. “What a tremendous 
dude we have come out. I wanted to joke you on it the 
first time I saw you, but this afternoon it's positively 
appalling. I would have taken my Bible oath that it was 
the last thing old Peter would become. Just look at 
him, Dot. Doesn’t he fill you with ‘wonder, awe and 
praise ? ’ ” 

Leonore looked at Peter a little shyly, but she said 
frankly : 

“I’ve wondered about that, Peter. People told me 
you were a man absolutely without style.” 

Peter smiled. “ Do you remember what Friar Bacon’s 
brass head said ? ” 

“ Time is : Time was: Time will never be again?” 
asked Leonore. 

“That fits my lack of style, I think.” 

“ Pell and Ogden, and the rest of them, have made you 
what I never could, dig at you as I would. So you’ve 
yielded to the demands of your toney friends ? ” 

“Of course I tried to dress correctly for my up-town 
friends, when I was with them. But it was not they who 
made me careful, though they helped me to find a good 
tailor, when I decided that I must dress better. ” 

“Then it was the big law practice, eh ? Must keep up 
appearances ? ” 

“I fancy my dressing would no more affect my prac- 
tice, than does the furnishing of my office.” 

“ Then who is she ? Out with it, you sly dog.” 

“ Of course I shan’t tell you that.” 

“ Peter, will you tell me? ” asked Leonore. 

Peter smiled into the frank eyes. “Who she is? ” 

“No. Why you dress so nicely. Please ? ” 

“You’ll laugh when I tell you it is my ward.” 

“Oh, nonsense,” laughed Watts. “That’s too thin. 
Come off that roof. Unless you’re guardian of some 
bewitching girl ? ” 

“ Your ward, Peter ? ” 

“Yes. I don’t know whether I can make you under- 
stand it. I didn’t at first. You see I became associated 
with the ward, in people’s minds, after I had been in 
politics for a few years. So I was sometimes put in 


228 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


positions to a certain extent representative of it. I never 
thought much how I dressed, and it seems that some- 
times at public meetings, and parades, and that sort of 
thing, I wasn’t dressed quite as well as the other men. 
So when the people of my ward, who were present, were 
asked to point me out to strangers, they were mortified 
about the way I looked. It seemed to reflect on the 
ward. The first inkling I had of it was after one of these 
parades, in which, without thinking, I had worn a soft 
hat. I was the only man who did not wear a silk one, 
and my ward felt very badly about it. So they made up 
a purse, and came to me to ask me to buy a new suit and 
silk hat and gloves. Of course that set me asking ques- 
tions, and though they didn’t want to hurt my feelings, 
I wormed enough out of them to learn how they felt. 
Since then I’ve spent a good deal of money on tailors, 
and dress very carefully.” 

“ Good for ‘ de sixt ’ ! Hurrah for the unwashed democ- 
racy, where one man’s as good as another ! So a ‘Mick' 
ward wants its great man to put on all the frills ? I tell you, 
chum, we may talk about equality, but the lower classes 
can’t but admire and worship the tinsel and flummery of 
aristocracy. ” 

“You are mistaken. They may like to see brilliant 
sights. Soldiers, ball-rooms or the like, and who does 
not ? Beauty is aesthetic, not aristocratic. But they 
judge people less by their dress or money than is usually 
supposed. Far less than the people up-town do. They 
wanted me to dress better, because it was appropriate. 
But let a man in the ward try to dress beyond his station, 
and he’d be jeered out of it, or the ward, if nothing worse 
happened. ” 

“Oh, of course they’d hoot at their own kind,” said 
Watts. “The hardest thing to forgive in this world is 
your equal’s success. But they wouldn’t say anything to 
one of us.” 

“If you, or Pell, or Ogden should go into Blunkers’s 
place in my ward, this evening, dressed as you are, or 
better, you probably would be told to get out. I don’t 
believe you could get a drink. And you would stand a 
chance of pretty rough usage. Last week I went right 
from a dinner to Blunkers’s to say a word to him. I was 
in evening dress, newcastle, and crush hat — even a bunch 


THE DUDE. 


229 


of lilies of the valley — yet every man there was willing 
to shake hands and have me sit down and stay. Blunkers 
couldn't have been dressed so, because it didn't belong to 
him. For the same reason, you would have no business 
in Blunkers's place, because you don’t belong there. But 
the men know I dressed for a reason, and came to the 
saloon for a reason. I wasn’t putting on airs. I wasn’t 
intruding my wealth on them.” 

“Look here, chum, will you take me into Blunkers’s 
place some night, and let me hear you powwow the 
‘ b’ys ? ’ I should like to see how you do it. ” 

“Yes,” Peter said deliberately, “if some night you’ll 
let me bring Blunkers up to watch one of your formal din- 
ners. He would enjoy the sight, I’m sure.” 

Leonore cocked her little nose up in the air, and laughed 
merrily. 

“ Oh, but that’s very different,” said Watts. 

“It’s just as different as the two men with the tooth- 
ache,” said Peter. “They both met at the dentist’s, who 
it seems had only time to pull one tooth. The question 
arose as to which it should be. ‘ I’m so brave,’ said one, 
‘ that I can wait till to-morrow.’ ‘ I’m such a coward,’ 
said the other, ‘that I don’t dare have it done to-day.’” 

“Haven’t you ever taken people to those places, Peter? ” 
asked Leonore. 

“No. I’ve always refused. It’s a society fad now to 
have what are called ‘slumming parties,’ and of course 
I’ve been asked to help. It makes my blood tingle when 
I hear them talk over the ‘ fun ’ as they call it. They 
get detectives to protect them, and then go through the 
tenements — the homes of the poor — and pry into their 
privacy and poverty, just out of curiosity. Then they go 
home and over a chafing dish of lobster or terrapin, and 
champagne, they laugh at the funny things they saw. If 
the poor could get detectives, and look in on the luxury 
and comfort of the rich, they wouldn’t see much fun in it, 
and there’s less fun in a down-town tenement than there 
is in a Fifth Avenue palace. I heard a girl tell the other 
night about breaking in on a wake by chance. * Weren’t 
we lucky ? ’ she said. ‘ It was so funny to see the poor 
people weeping and drinking whisky at the same time. 
Isn’t it heartless ? ’ Yet the dead — perhaps the bread-win- 
ner of the family, fallen in the struggle — perhaps the last 


230 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


little comer, not strong enough to fight this earth’s battle 
— must have lain there in plain view of that girl. Who 
was the most heartless ? The family and friends who had 
gathered over that body, according to their customs, or 
the party who looked in on them and laughed ? ” Peter 
had forgotten where he was, or to whom he was talking. 

Leonore had listened breathlessly. But the moment he 
ceased speaking, she bowed her head and began to sob. 
Peter came down from his indignant tirade like a flash. 
“ Miss D’Alloi,” he cried, “forgive me. I forgot. Don’t 
cry so. ” Peter was pleading in an anxious voice. He 
felt as if he had committed murder. 

“There, there, Dot. Don’t cry. It’s nothing to cry 
about. ” 

Miss D’Alloi was crying and endeavoring at the same 
time to solve the most intricate puzzle ever yet propounded 
by man or woman — that is, to find a woman’s pocket. 
She complicated things even more by trying to talk. “ I 
— I — know I’m ver — ver — very fooooooolish,” she man- 
aged to get out, however much she failed in a similar result 
with her pocket-handkerchief. 

“Since I caused the tears, you must let me stop them,” 
said Peter. He had produced his own handkerchief, and 
was made happy by seeing Leonore bury her face in it, 
and re-appear not quite so woe-begone. 

1 1 1 — only — didn’t — know — you — could — talk — like — 
like that,” explained Leonore. 

4 ‘ Let this be a lesson for you, ” said Watts. ‘ ‘ Don’t come 
any more of your jury-pathos on my little girl. ” 

“Papa ! You — I — Peter, I’m so glad you told me — I’ll 
never go to one. ” 

Watts laughed. “ Now I know why you charm all the 
women whom I hear talking about you. I tell you, when 
you rear your head up like that, and your eyes blaze so, 
and you put that husk in your voice, I don’t wonder you 
fetch them. By George, you were really splendid to look 
at.” 

That was the reason why Leonore had not cried till Peter 
had finished his speech. We don’t charge women with 
crying whenever they wish, but we are sure that they 
never cry when they have anything better to do. 


OPINIONS, 


231 


CHAPTER XL. 

OPINIONS. 

When the ride was ended, Leonore was sent home in 
the carriage, Watts saying he would go with Peter to his 
club. As soon as they were in the cab, he said : 

“ I wanted to see you about your letter.” 

“Well?” 

“Everything’s going as well as can be expected. Of 
course the little woman’s scandalized over your supposed 
iniquity, but I’m working the heavy sentimental ‘ saved- 
our-little-girl’s-life ’ business for all it’s worth. I had her 
crying last night on my shoulder over it, and no woman 
can do that and be obstinate long. She’ll come round 
before a great while.” 

Peter winced. He almost felt like calling Watts off from 
the endeavor. But he thought of Leonore. He must see 
her — just to prove to himself that she was not for him, 
be it understood — and how could he see enough of her to 
do that — for Peter recognized that it would take a good 
deal of that charming face and figure and manner to pall 
on him — if he was excluded from her home? So he jus- 
tified the continuance of the attempt by saying to himself : 
“She only excludes me because of something of which 1 
am guiltless, and I’ve saved her from far greater suffering 
than my presence can ever give her. I have earned the 
privilege if ever man earned it.” Most people can prove 
to themselves what they wish to prove. The successful 
orator is always the man who imposes his frame of mind 
on his audience. We call it “saying what the people 
want said.” But many of the greatest speakers first sug- 
gest an idea to their listeners, and when they say it in plain 
English, a moment later, the audience say, mentally, 
“That’s just what we thought a moment ago,” and are 
convinced that the speaker is right. 

Peter remained silent, and Watts continued: “We 
get into our own house to-morrow, and give Leonore a 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


*32 

birthday dinner Tuesday week as a combined house- 
warming and celebration. Save that day, for I’m deter- 
mined you shall be asked. Only the invitation may come 
a little late. You won’t mind that ? ” 

“No. But don’t send me too many of these formal 
things. I keep out of them as much as I can. I’m 
not a society man and probably won’t fit in with your 
friends. ” 

“ I should know you were not de society by that single 
speech. If there’s one thing easy to talk to, or fit in 
with, it’s a society man or woman. It’s their business to 
be chatty and pleasant, and they would be polite and en- 
tertaining to a kangaroo, if they found one next them at 
dinner. That’s what society is for. We are the yolk of 
the egg, which holds and blends all the discordant, un- 
trained elements. The oil, vinegar, salt, and mustard. 
We don’t add much flavor to life, but people wouldn’t 
mix without us. ” 

“I know,” said Peter, “if you want to talk petty per- 
sonalities and trivialities, that it’s easy enough to get 
through endless hours of time. But I have other things 
to do.” 

“Exactly. But we have a purpose, too. You mustn’t 
think society is all frivolity. It’s one of the hardest 
working professions. ” 

“And the most brainless.” 

“No. Don’t you see, that society is like any other 
kind of work, and that the people who will centre their 
whole life on it must be the leaders of it ? To you, the 
spending hours over a new entr&e, or over a cotillion 
figure, seems rubbish, but it’s the exact equivalent of your 
spending hours over who shall be nominated for a certain 
office. Because you are willing to do that, you are 
one of the “big four.” Because we are willing to do 
our task, we differentiate into the “four hundred.” You 
mustn’t think society doesn’t grind up brain-tissue. But 
we use so much in running it, that we don’t have enough 
for other subjects, and so you think we are stupid. I 
remember a woman once saying she didn’t like conver- 
sazioni, * because they are really brain-parties, and there is 
never enough to go round, and give a second help.’ Any 
way, how can you expect society to talk anything but 
society, when men like yourself stay away from it” 


OPINIONS. 


233 

tg I don't ask you to talk anything else. But let me 
keep out of it.” 

“‘He’s not the man for Galway',” hummed Watts. 
“He prefers talking to ‘ heelers,’ and ‘b’ys,'and ‘toughs,* 
and other clever, intellectual men.” 

“ I like to talk to any one who is working with a pur- 
pose in life.” 

“ I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?’ 

“ I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once 
said. We were at a dinner together, where there was a 
Chicago man who became irritated at one or two bits 
of ignorance displayed by some of the other guests over 
the size and prominence of his abiding place. Finally he 
said : * Why, look here, you people are so ignorant of 

my city, that you don’t even know how to pronounce its 
name.’ He turned to Miss De Voe and said, ‘We say 
Chicawgo. Now, how do you pronounce it in New York ? ' 
Miss De Voe put on that quiet, crushing manner she has 
when a man displeases her, and said, ‘We never pro- 
nounce it in New York.'” 

“Good for our Dutch-Huguenot stock! I tell you, 
Peter, blood does tell. ” 

“It wasn’t a speech I should care to make, because it 
did no good, and could only mollify. But it does de- 
scribe the position of the lower wards of New York 
towards society. I’ve been working in them for nearly 
sixteen years, and I’ve never even heard the subject men- 
tioned. ” 

“But I thought the anarchists and socialists were al- 
ways taking a whack at us ? ” 

“They cry out against over-rich men — not against 
society. Don’t confuse the constituents with the com- 
pound. Citric acid is a deadly poison, but weakened 
down with water and sugar, it is only lemonade. They 
growl at the poison, not at the water and sugar. Before 
there can be hate, there must be strength.” 

The next day Peter turned up in the park about four, 
and had a ride — with Watts. The day after that, he was 
there a little earlier, and had a ride — with the groom. 
The day following he had another ride — with the 
groom. Peter thought they were very wonderful rides. 
Some one told him a great many interesting things. 
About some one’s European life, some one’s thoughts, some 


234 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


one’s hopes, and some one’s feelings. Some one really 
wanted a friend to pour it all out to, and Peter listened 
well, and encouraged well. 

“ He doesn’t laugh at me, as papa does,” some one told 
herself, “ and so it’s much easier to tell him. And he 
shows that he really is interested. Oh, I always said he 
and I should be good friends, and we are going to be.” 

This put some one in a very nice frame of mind, and 
Peter thought he had never met such a wonderful com- 
bination of frankness, of confidence, and yet of a certain 
girlish shyness and timidity. Some one would tell him 
something, and then appeal to him, if he didn’t think 
that was so ? Peter generally thought it was. Some 
one did not drop her little touch of coquetry, for that was 
ingrain, as it is in most pretty girls. But it was the most 
harmless kind of coquetry imaginable. Some one was not 
thinking at all of winning men’s hearts. That might come 
later. At present all she wanted was that they should 
think her pretty, and delightful, so that — that they should 
want to be friends. 

When Peter joined Watts and Leonore, however, on the 
fourth day, there was a noticeable change in Leonore’s 
manner to him. He did not get any welcome except a 
formal “ Good-afternoon,” and for ten minutes Watts and 
he had to sustain the conversation by firing remarks at each 
other past a very silent intermediary. Peter had no 
idea what was wrong, but when he found that she did not 
mollify at the end of that time, he said to her : 

“ What is the matter ? ” 

“Matter with what?” asked Leonore, calmly. 

“With you.” 

“ Nothing.” 

“I shan’t take that for an answer. Remember, we 
have sworn to be friends.” 

“Friends come to see each other.” 

Peter felt relieved, and smiled. “They do,” he said, 
“when they can.” 

“No, they don’t, sometimes,” said Leonore severely. 
Then she unbent a little. “Why haven’t you been t a 
see us ? You’ve had a full week.” 

“ Yes,” said Peter, “ I have had a very full week.” 

“ Are you going to call on us, Mr. Stirling ? ” 

“To whom are you talking? ” 


OPINIONS , 


235 


“To you.” 

“My name’s Peter.” 

“That depends. Are you going to call on us ? ” 

“That is my hope and wish.” 

Leonore unbent a little more. “ If you are,” she said, 
“I wish you would do it soon, because mamma said 
to-day she thought of asking you to my birthday dinner 
next Tuesday, but I said you oughtn’t to be asked till you 
had called. ” 

“ Did you know that bribery is unlawful ? ” 

“Are you going to call?” 

“Of course I am.” 

“That’s better. When ? ” 

“ What evening are you to be at home ? ” 

“To-morrow,” said Leonore, beginning to curl up the 
corners of her mouth. 

“ Well,” said Peter, “I wish you had said this evening, 
because that’s nearer, but to-morrow isn’t so far away.” 

“ That’s right. Now we’ll be friends again.” 

“ I hope so.” 

“Are you willing to be good friends — not make be- 
lieve, or half friends, but — real friends ? ” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Don’t you think friends should tell each other every- 
thing ? ” 

“Yes.” Peter was quite willing, even anxious, that 
Leonore should tell him everything. 

“You are quite sure ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Then,” said Leonore, “tell me about the way you 
got that sword. ” 

Watts laughed. “She’s been asking every one she’s 
met about that. Do tell her, just for my sake.” 

“ I’ve told you already.” 

“Not the way I want it. I know you didn’t try to 
make it interesting. Some of the people remembered 
there was something very fine, but I haven’t found any- 
body yet who could really tell it to me. Please tell 
about it nicely, Peter.” Leonore was looking at Peter 
with the most pleading of looks. 

“It was during the great railroad strike. The Erie 
had brought some men up from New York to fill the 
strikers’ places. The new hands were lodged in freight 


236 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

cars, when off work, for it wasn’t safe for them to pass 
outside the guard lines of soldiers. Some of the strikers 
applied for work, and were re-instated. They only did 
it to get inside our lines. At night, when the substitutes 
in the cars were fast asleep, tired out with the double 
work they had done, the strikers locked the car-doors. 
They pulled the two cars into a shed full of freight, broke 
open a petroleum tank, and with it wet the cars and some 
others loaded with jute. They set fire to the cars and 
barricaded the shed doors. Of course we didn’t know 
till the flames burst through the roof of the shed, when by 
the light, one of the superintendents found the bunk cars 
gone. The fire-department was useless, for the strikers 
two days before, had cut all the hose. So we were 
ordered up to get the cars out. Some strikers had con- 
cealed themselves in buildings where they could overlook 
the shed, and while we were working at the door, they kept 
firing on us. We were in the light of the blazing shed, 
and they were in the dark, which gave them a big ad- 
vantage over us, and we couldn’t spare the time to attend 
to them. We tore up some rails and with them smashed 
in the door. The men in the cars were screaming, so we 
knew which to take, and fortunately they were the near- 
est to the door. We took our muskets — for the frames of 
the cars were blazing, and the metal part too hot to touch 
— and fixing bayonets, drove them into the woodwork 
and so pushed the cars out. When we were outside, we 
used the rails again, to smash an opening in the ends 
of the cars which were burning the least. We got the 
men out unharmed, but pretty badly frightened." 

“And were you not hurt ? ” 

“ We had eight wounded and a good many badly 
burned." 

“ And you ? " 

“ I had my share of the burn." 

“I wish you would tell me what you did — not what 
the others did. " 

Peter would have told her anything while she looked 
like that at him. 

“ I was in command at that point. I merely directed 
things, except taking up the rails. I happened to know 
how to get a rail up quickly, without waiting to unscrew 
the bolts. I had read it, years before, in a book on rail' 


OPINIONS. 


237 

road construction. I didn't think that paragraph would 
ever help me to save forty lives — for five minutes’ delay 
would have been fatal. The inside of the shed was one 
sheet of flame. After we broke the door down, I only 
stood and superintended the moving of the cars. The 
men did the real work.” 

“ But you said the inside of the shed was a sheet of 
flame." 

“ Yes. The railroad had to give us all fresh uniforms. 
So we made new toggery out of that night’s work. I’ve 
heard people say militia are no good. If they could have 
stood by me that night, and seen my company working 
over those blazing cars, in that mass of burning freight, 
with the roof liable to fall any minute, and the strikers 
firing every time a man showed himself, I think they 
would have altered their opinion." 

4 ‘Oh," said Leonore, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm. 
“ How splendid it is to be a man, and be able to do real 
things ! I wish I had known about it in Europe.” 

“Why?" 

“ Because the officers were always laughing about our 
army. I used to get perfectly wild at them, but I couldn’t 
say anything in reply. If I could only have told them 
about that." 

“ Hear the little Frenchwoman talk,” said Watts. 

“ I’m not French.” 

“Yes you are, Dot.” 

“ I’m all American. I haven’t a feeling that isn’t all 
American. Doesn’t that make me an American, Peter, no 
matter where I was born ? ” 

“ I think you are an American under the law.” 

“ Am I really? " said Leonore, incredulously. 

“ Yes. You were born of American parents, and you 
will be living in this country when you become of age. 
That constitutes nationality.” 

“ Oh, how lovely ! I knew I was an American, really, 
but papa was always teasing me and saying I was a for- 
eigner. I hate foreigners." 

“ Confound you, chum, you’ve spoiled one of my best 
jokes ! It’s been such fun to see Dot bristle when I teased 
her. She’s the hottest little patriot that ever lived. ” 

“ I think Miss D’Alloi’s nationality is akin to that of a 
case of which I once heard,” said Peter, smiling^ “A 


238 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

man was bragging- about the number of famous men who 
were born in his native town. He mentioned a well- 
known personage, among others, and one of his auditors 
said : * I didn't know he was born there/ ‘ Oh, yes, he 
was/ replied the man. 4 He was born there, but during 
the temporary absence of his parents ! ’ ” 

‘‘Peter, how much does a written opinion cost?” 
asked Leonore, eagerly. 

“ It has a range about equal to the woman's statement 
that a certain object was as long as a piece of string.” 

“ But your opinions ? ” 

“ I have given an opinion for nothing. The other day I 
gave one to a syndicate, and charged eight thousand 
dollars.” 

“Oh, dear ! ” said Leonore. “I wonder if I can afford 
to get your opinion on my being an American ? I should 
like to frame it and hang it in my room. Would it be 
expensive ? ” 

“It is usual with lawyers,” said Peter gravely, •* to find 
out how much a client has, and then make the bill for a 
little less. How much do you have ? ” 

“ I really haven't any now. I shall have two hundred 
dollars on the first. But then I owe some bills.” 

“You forget your grandmamma's money, Dot.” 

“Oh ! Of course. I shall be rich, Peter. I come into 
the income of my property on Tuesday. I forget how 
much it is, but I’m sure I can afford to have an opinion.” 

“ Why, Dot, we must get those papers out, and you 
must find some one to put the trust in legal shape, and 
take care of it for you,” said Watts. 

“ I suppose,” said Leonore to Peter, “if you have one 
lawyer to do all your work, that he does each thing 
cheaper, doesn’t he ? ” 

“ Yes. Because he divides what his client has, on sev- 
eral jobs, instead of on one,” Peter told her. 

“Then I think I’ll have you do it all. We'll comedown 
and see you about it. But write out that opinion at 
once, so that I can prove that I’m an American.” 

“ Very well. But there’s a safer way, even, of making 
sure that you're an American.” 

“ What is that? ” said Leonore, eagerly. 

“ Marry one,” said Peter. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Leonore. “ I’ve always intended to 
do that, but not for a great many years.” 


CHAPTER XLL 

CALLS. 

Peter dressed himself the next evening with particulai 
care, even for him. As Peter dressed, he was rather 
down on life. He had been kept from his ride that after- 
noon by taking evidence in a referee case. “I really 
needed the exercise badl/,” he said. He had tried to 
work his dissatisfaction off on his clubs and dumb-bells, 
but whatever they had done for his blood and tissue, 
they had not eased his frame of mind. Dinner made 
him a little pleasanter, for few men can remain cross 
over a proper meal. Still, he did not look happy, when, 
on rising from his coffee, he glanced at his watch and 
found that it was but ten minutes past eight. 

He vacillated for a moment, and then getting into his 
outside trappings, he went out and turned eastward, 
down the first side street. He walked four blocks, and 
then threw open the swing door of a brilliantly lighted 
place, stepping at once into a blaze of light and warmth 
which was most attractive after the keen March wind 
blowing outside. 

He nodded to the three barkeepers. “ Is Dennis 
inside ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, Misther Stirling. The regulars are all there.” 

Peter passed through the room, and went into another 
without knocking. In it were some twenty men, sitting 
for the most part in attitudes denoting ease. Two, at a 
small table in the corner, were playing dominoes. 
Three others, in another corner, were amusing themselves 
with “High, Low, Jack.” Two were reading papers. 
The rest were collected round the centre table, most of 
them smoking. Some beer mugs and tumblers were 
standing about, but not more than a third of the twenty 
were drinking anything. The moment Peter entered, one 
of the men jumped to his feet. 

“E’ys,” he cried “here’s Misther Stirling. Begobs, 


240 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


sir, it’s fine to see yez. IPs very scarce yez been lately.* 
He had shaken hands, and then put a chair in place foi 
Peter. 

The cards, papers, and dominoes had been abandoned 
the moment Dennis announced Peter’s advent, and when 
Peter had finished shaking the hands held out to him, and 
had seated himself, the men were all gathered round the 
big table. 

Peter laid his hat on the table, threw back his New- 
castle and lit a cigar. “I’ve been very short of time, 
Dennis. But I had my choice this evening before going 
up-town, of smoking a cigar in my own quarters, or 
here. So I came over to talk with you all about Denton." 

“ An* what’s he been doin’ ? ’’ inquired Dennis. 

‘*1 saw him to-day about the Hummel franchise that 
comes up in the Board next Tuesday. He won’t vote for 
it, he says. I told him I thought it was in the interest of 
the city to multiply means of transit, and asked him 
why he refused. He replied that he thought the Hummel 
gang had been offering money, and that he would vote 
against bribers.” 

“ He didn’t have the face to say that ? ” shouted one of 
the listeners. 

“Yes.” 

“ Oi never ! ” said Dennis. “ An’ he workin* night an* 
day to get the Board to vote the rival road. ” 

“ I don’t think there’s much doubt that money is being 
spent by both sides,” said Peter. “ I fear no bill could 
ever pass without it. But the Hummel crowd are really 
responsible people, who offer the city a good percentage. 
The other men are merely trying to get the franchise, to 
sell it out at a profit to Hummel. I don’t like the 
methods of either, but there’s a road needed, and there’ll 
be a road voted, so it’s simply a choice between the two. 
I shouldn’t mind if Denton voted against both schemes, 
but to say he’ll vote against Hummel for that reason, and 
yet vote for the other franchise shows that he’s not 
square. I didn’t say so to him, because I wanted to talk it 
over with the ward a little first to see if they stood with me. ” 

“That we do, sir,” said Dennis, with a sureness which 
was cool, if nothing more. Fortunately for the boldness 
of the speaker, no one dissented, and two or three couples 
nodded heads or pipes at each other. 


CALLS. 


241 

Peter looked at his watch. * ‘ Then I can put the screws 
on him safely, you think ? ” 

“Yes,” cried several. 

Peter rose. “Dennis, will you see Blunkers and 
Driscoll this evening, or some time to-morrow, and ask 
if they think so too ? And if they don’t, tell them to drop 
in on me, when they have leisure.” 

“ Begobs, sir, Oi’ll see them inside av ten minutes. 
An’ if they don’t agree wid us, shure, Oi’ll make them. ” 

“Thank you. Good-night.” 

“Good-night, Mr. Stirling,” came a chorus, and Peter 
passed into the street by the much maligned side-door. 

Dennis turned to the group with his face shining 
with enthusiasm. “Did yez see him, b’ys? There was 
style for yez. Isn’t he somethin’ for the ward to be 
proud av ? ” 

Peter turned to Broadway, and fell into a long rapid 
stride. In spite of the cold he threw open his coat, and 
carried his outer covering on his arm. Peter had no in- 
tention of going into an up-town drawing-room with any 
suggestion of “sixt” ward tobacco. So he walked till 
he reached Madison Square, when, after a glance at his 
watch, he jumped into a cab. 

It was a quarter-past nine when the footman opened the 
door of the Fifty-seventh Street house, in reply to Peter’s 
ring. Y et he was told that, ‘ ‘ The ladies are still at dinner. ” 

Peter turned and went down the stoop. He walked to 
the Avenue, and stopped at a house not far off. 

“Is Mrs. Pell at home?” he asked, and procured 
entrance for both his pasteboard and himself. 

“Welcome, little stranger,” was his greeting. “And 
it is so nice that you came this evening. Here is Van, 
son from Washington for two days.” 

“ I was going to look you up, and see what ‘ we, the 
people’ were talking about, so that I could enlighten our 
legislators when I go back,” said a man of forty. 

“ I wrote Pope a long letter to-day, which I asked him 
to show you,” said Peter. “Things are in a bad shape, 
and getting worse.” 

“But, Peter,” queried the woman, “if you are the 
leader, why do you let them get so ? ” 

“So as to remain the leader,” said Peter, smiling 
quietly. 

16 


242 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“Now that’s what comes of ward politics,” cried Mr& 
Pell. “You are beginning to make Irish bulls.” 

“ No,” replied Peter, “ I am serious, and because 
people don’t understand what I mean, they don’t under- 
stand American politics.” 

“But you say in effect that the way you retain your 
leadership, is by not leading. That’s absurd ! ” 

“No. Contradiction though it may seem the way to 
lose authority, is to exercise it too much. Christ enun- 
ciated the great truth of democratic government, when 
he said, * He that would be the greatest among you, shall 
be the servant of all. ’ ” 

“ I hope you won’t carry your theory so far as to let 
them nominate Maguire ? ” said Mr. Pell, anxiously. 

“Now, please don’t begin on politics, ’’said the woman. 
“ Here is Van, whom I haven’t seen for nine weeks, 
and here is Peter, whom I haven’t seen for time out of 
mind, and just as I think I have a red-letter evening be- 
fore me, you begin your everlasting politics.” 

‘ 1 1 merely stopped in to shake hands,” said Peter. “ I 
have a call to make elsewhere, and can stay but twenty 
minutes. For that time we choose you speaker, and you 
can make us do as it pleases you.” 

Twenty minutes later Peter passed into the D’Alloi 
drawing-room. He shook Mrs. D’Alloi’s hand steadily, 
which was more than she did with his. Then he was 
made happy for a moment, with that of Leonore. Then 
he was introduced to a Madame Mellerie, whom he 
placed at once as the half-governess, half-companion, 
who had charge of Leonore’s education ; a Mr. Maxwell, 
and a Marquis de somebody. They were both good- 
looking young fellows ; and greeted Peter in a friendly 
way. But Peter did not like them. 

He liked them less when Mrs. D’Alloi told him to sit 
in a given place, and then put Madame Mellerie down by 
him. Peter had not called to see Madame Mellerie. But 
he made a virtue of necessity, and he was too instinctively 
courteous not to treat the Frenchwoman with the same 
touch of deference his manner towards women always 
had. After they had been chatting for a little on French 
literature, it occurred to Peter that her opinion of him 
might have some influence with Leonore, so he decided 
that he would try and please her. But this thought 


CALLS . 


243 


turned his mind to Leonore, and speaking of her to hek 
governess, he at once became so interested in the facts 
she began to pour out to him, that he forgot entirely about 
his diplomatic scheme. 

This arrangement continued half an hour, when a 
dislocation of the statu quo was made by the departure 
of Mr. Maxwell. When the exit was completed, Mrs. 
D’Alloi turned to place her puppets properly again. But 
she found a decided bar to her intentions. Peter had 
formed his own conclusions as to why he had been set to 
entertain Madame Mellerie, not merely from the fact 
itself, but from the manner in which it had been done, 
and most of all, from the way Mrs. D’Alloi had man- 
aged to stand between Leonore and himself, as if 
protecting the former, till she had been able to force her 
arrangements. So with the first stir Peter had risen, 
and when the little bustle had ceased he was already 
standing by Leonore, talking to her. Mrs. D’Alloi did 
not look happy, but for the moment she was helpless. 

Peter had had to skirt the group to get to Leonore, and so 
had stood behind her during the farewells. She apparently 
had not noticed his advent, but the moment she had done 
the daughter-of-the-house duty, she turned to him, and 
said : “I wondered if you would go away without seeing 
me. I was so afraid you were one of the men who just 
say, * How d’ye do’ and * Good-bye/ and think they’ve 
paid a call.” 

“ I called to see you to-night, and I should not have 
gone till I had seen you. I’m rather a persistent man in 
some things.” 

“Yes,” said Leonore, bobbing her head in a very 
knowing manner, “ Miss De Voe told me.” 

“Mr. Stirling,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “can’t you tell us 
the meaning of the Latin motto on this seal ? ” Mrs. 
D’Alloi held a letter towards him, but did not stir from 
her position across the room. 

Peter understood the device. He was to be drawn off, 
and made to sit by Mrs. D’Alloi, not because she wanted 
to see him, but because she did not want him to talk 
to Leonore. Peter had no intention of being dragooned. 
So he said : “Madame Mellerie has been telling me what 
a good Latin scholar Miss D’Alloi is. I certainly shan’t 
display my ignorance, till she has looked at it.” Then 


244 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


he carried the envelope over to Leonore, and in handing 
it to her, moved a chair for her, not neglecting one for 
himself. Mrs. D’Alloi looked discouraged, the more 
when Peter and Leonore put their heads close together to 
examine the envelope. 

“ ‘ In bonam partem ,’" read Leonore. “ That’s easy, 
mamma. It’s — why, she isn't listening ! ” 

“You can tell her later. I have something to talk to 
jon about." 

“ What is that? ” 

“ Your dinner in my quarters. Whom would you like 
to have there ? ” 

“Will you really give me a dinner? ” 

“Yes." 

“ And let me have just whom I want ? n 

“Yes." 

“ Oh, lovely ! Let me see. Mamma and papa, of 
course. " 

“That’s four. Now you can have two more." 

“Peter. Would you mind — I mean — ” Leonore hesi- 
tated a moment and then said in an apologetic tone — 
“Would you like to invite madame ? I’ve been telling 
her about your rooms — and you — and I think it would 
please her so. ” 

“That makes five," said Peter. 

“ Oh, goody ! " said Leonore, “ I mean," she said, cor- 
recting herself, “ that that is very kind of you.” 

“ And now the sixth ? " 

“That must be a man of course," said Leonore, 
wrinkling up her forehead in the intensity of puzzlement. 
,“And I know so few men." She looked out into space, 
and Peter had a moment’s fear lest she should see the 
marquis, and name him. “ There’s one friend of yours 
I’m very anxious to meet. I wonder if you would be 
willing to ask him ? " 

“Who is that ? " 

“Mr. Moriarty." 

“No, I can’t ask him. I don’t want to cheapen him 
by making a show of him." 

“Oh ! I haven’t that feeling about him. I " 

“I think you would understand him and see the fine 
qualities. But do you think others would ?" Peter men- 
tioned no names, but Leonore understood. 


CALLS. 


* 4 $ 

“No,” she said. “You are quite right.” 

“You shall meet him some day,” said Peter, “if you 
wish, but when we can have only people who won't em- 
barrass or laugh at him.” 

“Really, I don’t know whom to select.” 

“ Perhaps you would like to meet Le Grand ? ” 

“Very much. He is just the man.” 

“ Then we'll consider that settled. Are you free for the 
ninth?” 

“Yes. I’m not going out this spring, and mamma and 
papa haven't really begun yet, and it's so late in the season 
that I’m sure we are free.” 

“Then I will ice the canvas-backs and champagne and 
dust off the Burgundy for that day, if your mamma 
accedes. ” 

“ Peter, I wanted to ask you the other day about that. 
I thought you didn’t drink wine.” 

“ I don't. But I give my friends a glass, when they are 
good enough to come to me. I live my own life, to please 
myself, but for that very reason, I want others to live their 
lives to please themselves. Trying to live other people's 
lives for them, is a pretty dog-in-the-manger business.” 

Just then Mrs. D’Alloi joined them. “Were you able 
to translate it ? ” she asked, sitting down by them. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Leonore. “It means ‘ Towards 
the right side,' or as a motto it might be translated, ‘ For 
the right side. ’ ” 

Mrs. D'Alloi had clearly, to use a western expression, 
come determined to “settle down and grow up with the 
country.” So Peter broached the subject of the dinner, 
and when she hesitated, Leonore called Watts into the 
group. He threw the casting ballot in favor of the din- 
ner, and so it was agreed upon. Peter was asked to come 
to Leonore’s birthday festival, “ If you don't mind such 
short notice,” and he didn’t mind, apparently. Then the 
conversation wandered at will till Peter rose. In doing 
so, he turned to Leonore, and said : 

“I looked the question of nationality up to-day, and 
found I was right. I’ve written out a legal opinion in my 
best hand, and will deliver it to you, on receiving my 
fee.” 

“ How much is that? ” said Leonore, eagerly. 

“ That you come and get it” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLIN6 . 


2*6 


CHAPTER XLIL 
DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK. 

Peter had not been working long the next morning 
when he was told that “ The Honorable Terence Denton 
wishes to see you.” “Very well,” he said, and that 
worthy was ushered in. 

“ Good-morning, Denton. I'm glad to see you. I was 
going down to the Hall to-day to say something, but 
you’ve saved me the trouble.” 

“ I know you was. So I thought I’d get ahead of you,” 
said Denton, with a surly tone and manner. 

“Sit down,” said Peter. Peter had learned that, with 
a certain class of individuals, a distance and a seat have a 
very dampening effect on anger. It is curious, man’s in- 
stinctive desire to stand up to and be near the object for 
which anger is felt. 

“ You’ve been talking against me in the ward, and 
makin’ them down on me.” 

“ No, I didn’t talk against you. I’ve spoken with some 
of the people about the way you think of voting on the 
franchises. ” 

“Yes. I wasn’t round, but a friend heard Dennis and 
Blunkers a-going over it last night. And it’s you did it.” 

“ Yes. But you know me well enough to be sure, after 
my talk with you yesterday, that I wouldn’t stop there.” 

“ So you try to set the pack on me.” 

“ No. I try to see how the ward wants its alderman 
to vote on the franchises.” 

“ Look a-here. What are you so set cn the Hummel 
crowd for?” 

“I’m not.” 

“ Is it because Hummel’s a big contractor and gives 
you lots of law business ? ” 

“No,” said Peter, smiling. “ And you don’t think it is, 
either.” 

“ Has they offered you some stock cheap ? * 


DOWN-Tt)WN NEW YORK. 


247 

“Come, come, Denton. You know th etuquoque won't 
do here.” 

Denton shifted in his seat uneasily, not knowing 
what reply to make. Those two little Latin words had 
such unlimited powers of concealment in them. He did 
not know whether tu quoque meant something about votes, 
an insulting charge, or merely a reply, and feared to make 
himself ridiculous by his response to them. He was not 
the first man who has been hampered and floored by his 
own ignorance. He concluded he must make an entire 
change of subject to be safe. So he said, “ I ain't goin’ 
to be no boss’s puppy dog.” 

“No,” said Peter, finding it difficult not to smile, “you 
are not that kind of a man.” 

“ I takes my orders from no one.” 

“Denton, no one wants you to vote by order. We 
elected you alderman to do what was best for the ward 
and city, as it seems to you. You are responsible for your 
votes to us, and no other man can be. I don’t care who 
orders you or advises you ; in the end, you must vote 
yourself, and you yourself will be held to account by us.” 

“Yes. But if I don’t vote as you wants, you’ll sour 
the boys on me. ” 

“ I shall tell them what I think. You can do the same. 
It’s a fair game between us. ” 

“ No, it ain’t. You’re rich and you can talk more.” 

“You know my money has nothing to do with it. You 
know I don’t try to deceive the men in talking to them. 
If they trust what I tell them, it’s because it’s reasonable, 
and because I haven’t tricked them before.” 

“ Well, are you goin’ to drive me out ? ” 

“I hope not. I think you’ve made a good alderman, 
Denton, and you’ll find I’ve said so.” 

“But now ? ” 

“ If you vote for that franchise, I shall certainly tell the 
ward that I think you’ve done wrong. Then the ward will 
do as they please.” 

“As you please, you mean.” 

“No. You’ve been long enough in politics to know 
that unless I can make the ward think as I do, I couldn’t 
do anything. What would you care for my opinion, if you 
didn’t know that the votes are back of it? ” 

Just then the door swung open, and Dennis came in. 


*48 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“Tim said yez was alone wid Denton, sir, so Oi came 
right in. It’s a good-momin', sir. How are yez, Ter- 
ence ? ” 

“You are just the man I want, Dennis. Tell Denton 
how the ward feels about the franchises. ” 

“ Shure. It’s one man they is. An’ if Denton will step 
down to my place this night, he’ll find out how they think.” 

“They never would have felt so, if Mister Stirling hadn’t 
talked to them. Not one in twenty knew the question 
was up.” 

“That’s because they are most of them too hard work- 
ing to keep track of all the things. Come, Denton ; I don’t 
attempt to say how you shall vote. I only tell you how 
it seems to me. Go round the ward, and talk with others. 
Then you can tell whether I can give you trouble in the 
future or not. I don’t want to fight you. We’ve been 
good friends in the past, and we can do more by pulling 
in double harness than by kicking. I don’t know a man 
I would rather see at the Hall.” Peter held out his hand, 
and Denton took it. 

“All right, Mister Stirling. I’ll do my best to stay 
friends,” he said, and went out. 

Peter turned and smiled at Dennis. “They can’t find 
out that it’s not I, but the ward. So every time there’s 
trouble they lay it against me, and it’s hard to keep them 
friendly. And I hate quarrels and surliness.” 

“ It’s yezself can do it, though. Shure, Denton was in 
a great state av mind this mornin’, they was tellin’ me, 
but he’s all right now, an’ will vote right, or my name isn’t 
Dennis Moriarty.” 

“Yes. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll vote square on 
Tuesday.” 

Just then Tim brought in the cards of Watts and Leonore, 
and strangely enough, Peter said they were to be shown 
in at once. In they came, and after the greetings, Peter 
said : 

“ Miss D’Alloi, this is my dear friend, Dennis Moriarty. 
Dennis, Miss D’Alloi has wanted to know you because 
she’s heard of your being such a friend to me.” 

“ Shure,” said Dennis, taking the little hand so eagerly 
offered him, “Oi'm thinkin’ we’re both lucky to be in 
the thoughts at all, at all, av such a sweet young lady.” 

“Oh, Mr. Moriarty, you’ve kissed the blarney stone.” 


DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK* 


249 

“Begobs,” responded Dennis, “it needs no blarney 
stone to say that. It’s afther sayin' itself.” 

‘ ‘ Peter, have you that opinion ? ” 

* 4 Yes. ” Peter handed her out a beautifully written sheet 
of script, all in due form, and given an appearance of vast 
learning, by red ink marginal references to such solid 
works as “Wheaton,” “Story,” and “Cranch’s” and 
“ Wallace's ” reports. Peter had taken it practically from 
a “Digest,” but many apparently learned opinions come 
from the same source. And the whole was given value 
by the last two lines, which read, “Respectfully submitted, 
Peter Stirling.” Peter's name had value at the bottom of 
a legal opinion, or a check, if nowhere else. 

“Look, Mr. Moriarty,” cried Leonore, too full of hap- 
piness over this decision of her nationality not to wish for 
some one with whom to share it, “I've always thought 
I was French — though I didn’t feel so a bit — and now Mr. 
Stirling has made me an American, and I’m so happy. I 
hate foreigners.” 

Watts laughed. “ Why, Dot. You mustn't say that to 
Mr. Moriarty. He’s a foreigner himself.” 

“Oh, I forgot. I didn’t think that ” Poor Leonore 

stopped there, horrified at what she had said. 

“No,” said Peter, “Dennis is not a foreigner. He's 
one of the most ardent Americans I know. As far as my 
experience goes, to make one of Dennis’s bulls, the hot- 
test American we have to-day, is the Irish- American. ” 

“Oh, come, "said Watts. “ You know every Irishman 
pins his loyalty to the ‘ owld counthry. ' ” 

“ Shure,” said Dennis, “an' if they do, what then? 
Sometimes a man finds a full-grown woman, fine, an' 
sweet, an' strong, an’ helpful to him, an’ he comes to love 
her big like. But does that make him forget his old weak 
mother, who's had a hard life av it, yet has done her 
best by him ? Begobs ! If he forgot her, he wouldn’t be 
the man to make a good husband. Oi don't say Oi’m a 
good American, for its small Oi feel besides Misther Stir- 
ling. But Oi love her, an' if she ever wants the arm, or 
the blood, or the life, av Dennis Moriarty, she’s only got 
to say so.” 

“ Well,” said Watts, “ this is very interesting, both as 
a point of view and as oratory ; but it isn’t business. 
Peter, we came down this morning to take whatever legal 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


250 

steps are necessary to put Dot in possession of her grand’ 
mother's money, of which I have been trustee. Here is 
a lot of papers about it. I suppose everything is there 
relating to it.” 

“ Papa seemed to think it would be very wise to ask 
you to take care of it, and pay me the income. I can't 
have the principal till I’m twenty-five.” 

“You must tie it up some way, Peter, or Dot will make 
ducks and drakes of it. She has about as much idea of 
the value of money as she has of the value of foreigners. 
When we had our villa at Florence, she supported the 
entire pauper population of the city. ” 

Peter had declined heretofore the care of trust funds. 
But it struck him that this was really a chance — from a busi- 
ness standpoint, entirely ! It is true, the amount was only 
ninety-two thousand, and, as a trust company would handle 
that sum of money for four hundred and odd dollars, he 
was bound to do the same ; and this would certainly not 
pay him for his time. “ Sometimes, however,” said Peter 
to himself, “these trusteeships have very handsome pick- 
ings, aside from the half per cent. ” Peter did not say that 
the “pickings,” as they framed themselves in his mind, 
were sundry calls on him at his office, and a justifiable 
reason at all times for calling on Leonore ; to say noth- 
ing of letters and other unearned increment. So Peter 
was not obstinate this time. “ It’s such a simple matter 
that I can have the papers drawn while you wait, if 
you’ve half an hour to spare.” Peter did this, thinking it 
would keep them longer, but later it occurred to him it 
would have been better to find some other reason, and 
leave the papers, because then Leonore would have had 
to come again soon. Peter was not quite as cool and far- 
seeing as he was normally. 

He regretted his error the more when they all took his 
suggestion that they go into his study. Peter rang for his 
head clerk, and explained what was needed with great 
rapidity, and then left the latter and went into the study. 

“ I wonder what he’s in such a hurry for?” said the 
clerk, retiring with the papers. 

When Peter entered the library he found Leonore and 
Watts reposing in chairs, and Dennis standing in front of 
them, speaking. This was what Dennis was saying : 

‘“Schatter, boys, an' find me a sledge.' Shure, we 


DO WN- TO WN NE W YORK. 




thought it was demented he was, but he was the only cool 
man, an’ orders were orders. Dooley, he found one, an* 
then the captain went to the rails an’ gave it a swing, an' 
struck the bolts crosswise like, so that the heads flew off, 
like they was shootin’ stars. Then he struck the rails 
sideways, so as to loosen them from the ties. Then says 
he : * Half a dozen av yez take off yez belts an' strap these 
rails together ! * Even then we didn’t understand, but we 
did it. All this time the dirty spal — Oi ask yez pardon, 
miss — all this time the strikers were pluggin’ at us, an’ 
bullets fly in’ like fun. ‘ Drop your muskets,’ says the 
captain, when we had done ; 4 fall in along those rails. 
Pick them up, and double-quick for the shed door,’ says 
he, just as if he was on parade. Then we saw what he 
was afther, and double-quick we went. Begobs. that 
door went down as if it was paper. He was the first in. 

* Stand back,’ says he, ‘ till Oi see what’s needed.’ Yez 
should have seen him walk into that sheet av flame, an’ 
stand theer, quiet-like, thinkin’, an’ it so hot that we 
at the door were coverin’ our faces to save them from 
scorchin’. Then he says : ‘ Get your muskets ! ’ We 
went, an’ Moike says to me : ‘ It’s no good. No man 
can touch them cars. He’s goin’ to attind to the strik- 
ers.’ But not he. He came out, an’ he says : * B’ys, 
it’s hot in there, but, if you don’t mind a bit av a burn, we 
can get the poor fellows out. Will yez try ? ’ ‘ Yes ! * we 

shouted. So he explained how we could push cars wid- 
out touchin’ them. ‘Fall in,’ says he. ‘Fix bayonets. 
First file to the right av the cars, second rank to the left 
Forward, march ! ’ An’ we went into that hell, an’ rolled 
them cars out just as if we was marchin’ down Broad- 
way, wid flags, an’ music, an’ women clappin’ hands.” 

“ But weren’t you dreadfully burnt ? ” 

“ Oh, miss, yez should have seen us ! We was blacker 
thin the divil himsilf. Hardly one av us but didn’t have 
the hair burnt off the part his cap didn’t cover ; an’, as for 
eyelashes, an’ mustaches, an’ blisters, no one thought av 
them the next day. Shure, the whole company was in 
bed, except them as couldn’t lie easy.” 

“ And Mr. Stirling ? ” 

“ Shure. uon’t yez know about him ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Why, \ic was dreadful burnt, an' the doctors thought 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


*52 

It would be blind he'd be ; but he went to Paris, an* they 
did somethin' to him there that saved him. Oh, miss, 
the boys were nearly crazy wid fear av losin' him. They'd 
rather be afther losin’ the regimental cat." 

Peter had been tempted to interrupt two or three times, 
but it was so absorbing to watch Leonore’s face, and its 
changing expression, as, unconscious of his presence, she 
listened to Dennis, that Peter had not the heart to do it 
But now Watts spoke up. 

“ Do you hear that, Peter? There's value for you 1 
You're better than the cat." 

So the scenes were shifted, and they all sat and chatted 
till Dennis left. Then the necessary papers were brought 
in and looked over at Peter’s study-table, and Miss D'Alloi 
took another of his pens. Peter hoped she'd stop and 
think a little, again, but she didn’t. Just as she had be- 
gun an L she hesitated, however. 

“Why," she said, “this paper calls me ‘ Leonore 
D'Alloi, spinster ! ' I’m not going to sign that. " 

“ That is merely the legal term, ’’ Peter explained. Leo- 
nore pouted for some time over it, but finally signed. “ I 
shan’t be a spinster, anyway, even if the paper does say 
so," she said 

Peter agreed with her. 

“ See what a great blot I’ve made on your clean blot- 
ter,” said Leonore, who had rested the pen-point there. 
“I’m very sorry." Then she wrote on the blotter, “Leo- 
nore D’Alloi. Her very untidy mark. " “ That was what 

Madame Mellerie always made me write on my exercises. ” 

Then they said “Good-bye." “ I like down-town New 
York better and better," said Leonore. 

So did Peter. 


CHAPTER XLIIL 
A BIRTHDAY EVENING. 

Veter went into Ray's office on Monday. “ I wan* 
your advice," he said “ I'm going to a birthday dinnet 
to-morrow. A girl for whom I’m trustee. Now, how 
handsome a present may I send her?" 

“ H’m. How well do you know her ? ” 


A BIRTHDAY EVENING. 


*53 


“We are good friends.” 

“Just about what you please, I should say, if you know 
her well, and make money out of her ? ” 

“That is, jewelry ? ” 

“ Ye es.” 

* * Thanks. ” Peter turned. 

4 * Who is she, Peter ? I thought you never did any- 
thing so small as that. Nothing, or four figures, has 
always seemed your rule ? ” 

“This had extenuating circumstances,” smiled Peter. 

So when Peter shook hands, the next evening, with the 
very swagger young lady who stood beside her mother, 
receiving, he was told : 

‘ ‘It’s perfectly lovely ! Look. ” And the little wrist was 
held up to him. “And so were the flowers. I couldn’t 
carry a tenth of them, so I decided to only take papa’s. 
But I put yours up in my room, and shall keep them 
there.” Then Peter had to give place to another, just as 
he had decided that he would have one of the flowers from 
the bunch she was carrying, or he left the awful con- 

sequences of failure blank. 

Peter stood for a moment unconscious of the other 
people, looking at the pretty rounded figure in the dainty 
evening dress of French open-work embroidery. “ I didn’t 
think she could be lovelier than she was in her street and 
riding dresses but she is made for evening dress, ” was his 
thought. He knew this observation wasn’t right, however, 
so he glanced round the room, and then walked up to a 
couple. 

“ There, I told Mr. Beekman that I was trying to mag- 
netize you, and though your back was turned, you came 
to me at once.” 

“Er — really, quite wonderful, you know,” said Mr. 
Beekman. “ I positively sham’t dare to be left alone with 
you, Miss De Voe.” 

“You needn’t fear me. I shall never try to magnetize 
you, Mr. Beekman,” said Miss De Voe. “I was so 
pleased,” she continued, turning to Peter, “to see you 
take that deliberate survey of the room, and then come 
over here.” 

Peter smiled. “I go out so little now, that I have 
turned selfish. I don’t go to entertain people. . I go to be 
entertained. Tell me what you have been doing? ” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


254 - 

But as Peter spoke, there was a little stir, and Peter had 
to say “excuse me.” He crossed the room, and said, “ I 
am to have the pleasure, Mrs. Grinnell,” and a moment 
later the two were walking towards the dining-room. 
Miss De Voe gave her arm to Beekman calmly, but her 
eyes followed Peter. They both could have made a better 
arrangement. Most dinner guests can. 

It was a large dinner, and so was served in the ball- 
room. The sixty people gathered were divided into 
little groups, and seated at small tables holding six or' 
eight. Peter knew all but one at his table, to the extent of 
having had previous meetings. They were all fashion- 
ables, and the talk took the usual literary-artistic-musical 
turn customary with that set. “Men, not principles” is 
the way society words the old cry, or perhaps “person- 
alities, not generalities ” is a better form. So Peter ate his 
dinner quietly, the conversation being general enough not 
to force him to do more than respond, when appealed to. 
He was, it is true, appealed to frequently. Peter had the 
reputation, as many quiet men have, of being brainy. 
Furthermore he knew the right kind of people, was known 
to enjoy a large income, was an eligible bachelor, and 
was “interesting and unusual.” So society no longer 
rolled its Juggernaut over him regardlessly, as of yore. 
A man who was close friends with half a dozen exclusives 
of the exclusives, was a man not to be disregarded, simply 
because he didn’t talk. Society people applied much the 
same test as did the little ‘ ‘angle ” children, only in place of 
“he’s frinds wid der perlice,” they substituted “ he’s very 
intimate with Miss De Voe, and the Ogdens and the Pells.” 

Peter had dimly hoped that he would find himself 
seated at Leonore’s table — He had too much self de- 
preciation to think for a moment that he would take her 
in — but hers was a young table, he saw, and he would 
not have minded so much if it hadn’t been for that Mar- 
quis. Peter began to have a very low opinion of for- 
eigners. Then he remembered that Leonore had the same 
prejudice, so he became more reconciled to the fact that 
the Marquis was sitting next her. And when Leonore 
sent him a look and a smile, and held up the wrist, so as 
to show the pearl bracelet, Peter suddenly thought what 
a delicious rissole he was eating, 

.As the dinner waned, one of the footmen brought him a 


A BIR THDA Y E VENING. 


255 

card, on which Watts had written : “They want me to 
say a few words of welcome and of Dot. Will you re- 
spond ? ” Peter read the note and then wrote below it : 
“Dear Miss D’Alloi : You see the above. May I pay 
you a compliment ? Only one ? Or will it embarrass 
you ? ” When the card came back a new line said : * ‘ Dear 
Peter : I am not afraid of your compliment, and am very 
curious to hear it.” Peter said, “Tell Mr. D’Alloi that I 
will with pleasure. ” Then he tucked the card in his pocket. 
That card was not going to be wasted. 

So presently the glasses were filled up, even Peter say- 
ing, “You may give me a glass,” and Watts was on his 
feet. He gave “our friends” a pleasant welcome, and 
after apologizing for their absence, said that at least, “like 
the little wife in the children’s play, * We too have not been 
idle/ for we bring you a new friend and introduce her to 
you to-night.” 

Then Peter rose, and told the host : “ Your friends have 
been grieved at your long withdrawal from them, as the 
happy faces and welcome we tender you this evening, 
show. We feared that the fascination of European art, 
with its beauty and ease and finish, had come to over- 
weigh the love of American nature, despite its life and 
strength and freshness ; that we had lost you for all time. 
But to-night we can hardly regret even this long inter- 
lude, if to that circumstance we owe the happiest and 
most charming combination of American nature and 
European art — Miss D’Alloi.” 

Then there was applause, and a drinking of Miss 
D’Alloi’s health, and the ladies passed out of the room — 
to enjoy themselves, be it understood, leaving the men in 
the gloomy, quarrelsome frame of mind it always does. 

Peter apparently became much abstracted over his cigar, 
but the abstraction was not perhaps very deep, for he was 
on his feet the moment Watts rose, and was the first to 
cross the hall into the drawing-room. He took a quick 
glance round the room, and then crossed to a sofa. 
Dorothy and — and some one else were sitting on it. 

“Speaking of angels,” said Dorothy. 

“ I wasn’t speaking of you,” said Peter. “ Only think- 
ing.” 

“There,” said Leonore. “Now if Mrs. Grinnell had 
only heard that” 


256 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

Peter looked a question, so Leonore continued : 

“We were talking about you. I don’t understand you. 
You are so different from what I had been told to think 
you. Every one said you were very silent and very un- 
complimentary, and never joked, but you are not a bit as 
they said, and I thought you had probably changed, just 
as you had about the clothes. But Mrs. Grinnell says she 
never heard you make a joke or a compliment in her life, 
and that at the Knickerbocker they call you * Peter, the 
silent/ You are a great puzzle.” 

Dorothy laughed. “Here we four women — Mrs. 
Grinnell, and Mrs. Winthrop and Leonore and myself — 
have been quarrelling over you, and each insisting you 
are something different. I believe you are not a bit firm 
and stable, as people say you are, but a perfect chameleon, 
changing your tint according to the color of the tree you 
are on. Leonore was the worst, though 1 She says that 
you talk and joke a great deal. We could have stood 
anything but that ! ” 

“I am sorry my conversation and humor are held in 
such low estimation.” 

“There,” said Leonore. “See. Didn’t I tell you he 
joked ? And, Peter, do you dislike women ? ” 

“Unquestionably,” said Peter. 

“Please tell me. I told them of your speech about the 
sunshine, and Mrs. Winthrop says that she knows you 
didn’t mean it. That you are a woman-hater and de- 
spise all women, and like to get off by yourself.” 

“That’s the reason I joined you and Dorothy,” said 
Peter. 

“ Do you hate women ? ” persisted Leonore. 

“A man is not bound to incriminate himself,” replied 
Peter, smiling. 

“Then that’s the reason why you don’t like society, 
and why you are so untalkative to women. I don’t like 
men who think badly of women. Now, I want to know 
why you don’t like them ? ” 

“ Supposing,” said Peter, “ you were asked to sit down 
to a game of whist, without knowing anything of the 
game. Do you think you could like it ? ” 

“No. Of course not 1 ” 

“Well, that is my situation toward women. They 
have never liked me, nor treated me as they do othei 


A BIRTHDAY EVENING, 


257 


men. And so, when I am put with a small-talk woman, 
I feel all at sea, and, try as I may, I can’t please her. 
They are never friendly with me as they are with othei 
men.” 

“ Rubbish !” said Dorothy. “It's what you do, not 
what she does, that makes the trouble. You look at a 
woman with those grave eyes and that stern jaw of yours, 
and we all feel that we are fools on the spot, and really 
become so. I never stopped being afraid of you till I 
found out that in reality you were afraid of me. You 
know you are. You are afraid of all women.” 

“He isn’t a bit afraid of women,” affirmed Leonore. 

Just then Mr. Beekman came up. “Er — Mrs. Riving** 
ton. You know this is — er — a sort of house-warming, and 
they tell me we are to go over the house, don’t you know, 
if we wish. May I harve the pleasure ? ” 

Dorothy conferred the boon. Peter looked down at 
Leonore with a laugh in his eyes. “Er — Miss D’Alloi,” 
he said, with the broadest of accents, “you know this,— 
er — is a sort of a house-warming and— He only 
imitated so far and then they both laughed. 

Leonore rose. “With pleasure. I only wish Mrs. 
Grinnell had heard you. I didn’t know you could 
mimic ? ” 

“ I oughtn’t. It’s a small business. But I am so happy 
that I couldn’t resist the temptation.” 

Leonore asked, “ What makes you so happy ? ” 

“My new friend,” said Peter. 

Leonore went on up the stairs without saying anything. 
At the top, however, she said, enthusiastically: “You 
do say the nicest things ! What room would you like to 
see first ? ” 

“ Yours,” said Peter. 

So they went into the little bedroom, and boudoir, and 
looked over them. Of course Peter found a tremendous 
number of things of interest. There were her pictures, 
most of them her own purchases in Europe ; and her 
books and what she thought of them ; and her thousand 
little knick-knacks of one kind and another. Peter wasn’t 
at all in a hurry to see the rest of the house. 

“These are the photographs of my real friends,” said 
Leonore, “except yours. I want you to give me one to 
complete my rack.” 

17 


*58 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“ I haven't had a photograph taken in eight years, and 
am afraid I have none left." 

“Then you must sit." 

“Very well. But it must be an exchange.” Peter al- 
most trembled at his boldness, and at the thought of a 
possible granting. 

“Do you want mine?” 

“Very much.” 

“I have dozens,” said Leonore, going over to her desk, 
and pulling open a drawer. “ I'm very fond of being 
taken. You may have your choice.” 

“That’s very difficult,” said Peter, looking at the differ- 
ent varieties. “Each has something the rest haven’t. 
You don’t want to be generous, and let me have these 
four?” 

“Oh, you greedy!” said Leonore, laughing. “Yes, 
if you’ll do something I’m going to ask you.” 

Peter pocketed the four. “ That is a bargain,” he said, 
with a brashness simply disgraceful in a good business 
man. “ Now, what is it ? ” 

“Miss De Voe told me long ago about your savings- 
bank fund for helping the poor people. Now that I have 
come into my money, I want to do what she does. Give 
a thousand dollars a year to it — and then you are to tell 
me just what you do with it.” 

“Of course I’m bound to take it, if you insist. But it 
won’t do any good. Even Miss De Voe has stopped 
giving now, and I haven’t added anything to it for over 
five years.” 

“ Why is that? ” 

“You see, I began by loaning the fund to people who 
were in trouble, or who could be boosted a little by help, 
and for three or four years, I found the money went 
pretty fast. But by that time people began to pay it back, 
with interest often, and there has hardly been a case when 
it hasn’t been repaid. So what with Miss De Voe’s contri- 
butions, and the return of the money, I really have more 
than I can properly use already. There’s only about 
eight thousand loaned at present, and nearly five thousand 
in bank.” 

“ I’m so sorry ! ” said Leonore. “But couldn’t you give 
some of the money, so that it wouldn’t come back ? ” 

“That does more harm than good. It’s like giving 


A BIRTHDA Y EVENING, 


2S9 

opium to kil) temporary pain. It stops the pain for the 
moment, but only to weaken the system so as to make 
the person less able to bear pain in the future. That's 
the trouble with most of our charity. It weakens quite 
as much as it helps.” 

* ‘ I have thought about this for five years as something 
I should do. I'm so grieved.” And Leonore looked her 
words. 

Peter could not stand that look. “I’ve been thinking 
of sending a thousand dollars of the fund, that I didn't 
think there was much chance of using, to a Fresh Air 
fund and the Day Nursery. If you wish I'll send two 
thousand instead and then take your thousand ? Then I 
can use that for whatever I have a chance.” 

“That will do nicely. But I thought you didn’t think 
regular charities did much good ? ” 

“Some don’t. But it’s different with children. They 
don’t feel the stigma and are not humiliated or made in- 
dolent by help. We can’t do too much to help them. 
The future of this country depends on its poor children. 
If they are to do right, they must be saved from ill-health, 
and ignorance, and vice ; and the first step is to give 
them good food and air, so that they shall have strong 
little bodies. A sound man, physically, may not be a 
strong man in other ways, but he stands a much better 
chance.” 

“Oh, it’s very interesting,” said Leonore. “Tell me 
some more about the poor people.” 

“ What shall I tell you ? ” said Peter. 

“ How to help them.” 

“I’ll speak about something I have had in mind for 
a long time, trying to find some way to do it. I think 
the finest opportunity for benevolence, not already at- 
tempted, would be a company to lend money to the poor, 
just as I have attempted, on a small scale, in my ward. 
You see there are thousands of perfectly honest people 
who are living on day wages, and many of them can lay 
up little or no money. Then comes sickness, or loss of 
employment, or a fire which burns up all their furniture 
and clothes, or some other mischance, and they can 
turn only to pawnbrokers and usurers, with their fearful 
charges; or charity, with its shame. Then there are 
hundreds of people whom a loan of a little money would 


26 o 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


help wonderfully. This boy can get a place if he had a 
respectable suit of clothes. Another can obtain work by 
learning a trade, but can’t live while he learns it. A 
woman can support herself if she can buy a sewing- 
machine, but hasn’t the money to buy it. Another can 
get a job at something, but is required to make a deposit 
to the value of the goods intrusted to her. Now, if all 
these people could go to some company, and tell their 
story, and get their notes discounted, according to their 
reputation, just as the merchant does at his bank, don’t 
you see what a help it would be ? ” 

“How much would it take, Peter?” 

"One cannot say, because, till it is tested, there would 
be no way of knowing how much would be asked 
for. But a hundred thousand dollars would do to start 
with.” 

" Why, that’s only a hundred people giving a thousand 
each,” cried Leonore eagerly. "Peter, I’ll give a thou- 
sand, and I’ll make mamma and papa give a thousand, 
and I’ll speak to my friends and ” 

"Money isn’t the difficult part,” said Peter, longing to 
a fearful degree to take Leonore in his arms. " If it were 
only money, I could do it myself — or if I did not choose 
to do it alone, Miss De Voe and Pell would help me.” 

" What is it, then ? ” 

"It’s finding the right man to run such a company. I 
can’t give the time, for I can do more good in other 
directions. It needs a good business man, yet one who 
must have many other qualities which rarely go with a 
business training. He must understand the poor, because 
he must look into every case, to see if it is a safe risk — - 
or rather if the past life of the applicant indicates that he 
is entitled to help. Now if your grandfather, who is such 
an able banker, were to go into my ward, and ask about 
the standing of a man in it, he wouldn’t get any real in- 
formation. But if I ask, every one will tell me what he 
thinks. The man in control of such a bank must be able 
to d.aw out the truth. Unless the management was just 
what it ought to be, it would be bankrupt in a few 
months, or else would not lend to one quarter of the 
people who deserve help. Yet from my own experience, 
I know, that money can be loaned to these people, so 
that the legal interest more than pays for the occasional 


A BIR THDA Y E VENING. 


261 


loss, and that most of these losses are due to inability, 
more than to dishonesty.” 

“I wish we could go on talking,” sighed Leonore.” 
“ But the people are beginning to go downstairs. I sup- 
pose I must go, so as to say good-bye. I only wish I 
could help you in charity. ” 

“You have given me a great charity this evening,” 
«aid Peter. 

“You mean the photographs,” smiled Leonore. 

“No.” 

“What else?” 

“You have shown me the warmest and most loving of 
hearts,” said Peter, “and that is the best charity in the 
world. 

On the way down they met Lispenard coming up. 
“ I’ve just said good-night to your mother. I would 
have spoken to you while we were in your room, but you 
were so engrossed that Miss Winthrop and I thought we 
had better not interrupt.” 

“I didn’t see you,” said Leonore. 

“ Indeed ! ” said Lispenard, with immense wonder- 
ment. “ I can’t believe that. You know you were cut- 
ting us.” Then he turned to Peter. “You old scamp, 
you,” he whispered, “you are worse than the Standard 
Oil.” 

“I sent for you some time ago, Leonore,” said her 
mother, disapprovingly. “The guests have been going 
and you were not here.” 

“ I’m sorry, mamma. I was showing Peter the house.” 

“Good-night,” said that individual. “I dread formal 
dinners usually, but this one has been the pleasantest of 
my life.” 

“That’s very nice. And thank you, Peter, for the 
bracelet, and the flowers, and the compliment. They 
were all lovely. Would you like a rose? ” 

Would he? He said nothing, but he looked enough to 
get it. 

“Can’t we put you down? ’’said a manat the door. 
‘•It’s not so far from Washington Square to your place, 
that your company won’t repay us.” 

“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I have a hansom here. ” 

Yet Peter did not ride. He dismissed cabby, and 
walked down the Avenue. Peter was not going to coin- 


262 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

press his happiness inside a carriage that evening. He 
needed the whole atmosphere to contain it. 

As he strode along he said : 

“ It isn’t her beauty and grace alone ” — (It never is with 
a man, oh, no ! ) — “ but her truth and frankness and friend- 
liness. And then she doesn’t care for money, and she 
isn’t eaten up with ambition. She is absolutely untouched 
by the world yet. Then she is natural, yet reserved, with 
other men. She’s not husband-hunting, like so many of 
them. And she’s loving, not merely of those about her, 
but of everything.” 

Musicians will take a simple theme and on it build un- 
limited variations. This was what Peter proceeded to 
do. From Fifty-seventh Street to Peter’s rooms was a 
matter of four miles. Peter had not half finished his the- 
matic treatment of Leonore when he reached his quarters. 
He sat down before his fire, however, and went on, not 
with hope of exhausting all possible variations, but merely 
for his own pleasure. 

Finally, however, he rose and put photographs, rose, 
and card away. 

“I’ve not allowed myself to yield to it,” he said (which 
was a whopper) “till I was sure she was what I could 
always love. Now I shall do my best to make her love 
me.” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

A GOOD DAY. 

The next day it was raining torrents, but despite this, 
and to the utter neglect of his law business, Peter drove 
up-town immediately after lunch, to the house in Fifty- 
seventh Street. He asked for Watts, but while he was 
waiting for the return of the servant, he heard a light foot- 
step, and turning, he found Leonore fussing over some 
flowers. At the same moment she became conscious of 
his presence. 

“ Good-day,” said Peter. 

“ It isn’t a good day at all,” said Leonore, in a discon- 
solate voice, holding out her hand nevertheless. 

“Why not?” 


A GOOD DA K 


263 


“It's a horrid day, and I’m in disgrace.” 

4 For what ? ” 

‘For misbehaving last night. Both mamma and 
madame say I did very wrong. I never thought I 
couldn’t be real friends with you.” The little lips were 
trembling slightly. 

Peter felt a great temptation to say something strong. 
“ Why can’t the women let such an innocent child 
alone ? ” he thought to himself. Aloud he said, 44 If any 
wrong was done, which I don’t think, it was my fault 
Can I do anything ? ” 

44 1 don’t believe so,” said Leonore, with a slight un- 
steadiness in her voice. 44 They say that men will 
always monopolize a girl if she will allow it, and that a 
really well-mannered one won’t permit it for a moment.” 

Peter longed to take her in his arms and lay the little 
downcast head against his shoulder, but he had to be 
content with saying: 44 1 am so sorry they blame you. 
If I could only save you from it.” He evidently said it 
in a comforting voice, for the head was raised a trifle. 

44 You see,” said Leonore, 44 I’ve always been very 
particular with men, but with you it seemed different. 
Yet they both say I stayed too long upstairs, and were 
dreadfully shocked about the photographs. They said I 
ought to treat you like other men. Don’t you think you 
are different ? ” 

Yes. Peter thought he was very different. 

44 Mr. D’Alloi will see you in the library,” announced 
the footman at this point. 

Peter turned to go, but in leaving he said : 44 Is there 
any pleasure or service I can do, to make up for the 
trouble I’ve caused you ? ” 

, Leonore put her head on one side, and looked a little 
ess grief-stricken. 44 May I save that up ? ” she asked. 

4 4 Yes.” 

A moment later Peter was shaking hands with Watts. 

44 This is nice of you. Quite like old times. Will you 
smoke ? ” 

44 No. But please yourself. I’ve something to talk 
about.” 

44 Fire away.” 

44 Watts, I want to try and win the love of your little 
girl. ” 


264 the HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“ Dear old man,” cried Watts, “ there isn’t any one in 
God’s earth whom I would rather see her choose, or to 
whom I would sooner trust her.” 

“Thank you, Watts,” said Peter, gratefully. “Watts 
is weak, but he is a good fellow,” was his mental remark. 
Peter entirely forgot his opinion of two weeks ago. It if 
marvellous what a change a different point of view makes 
in most people. 

“ But if I give you my little Dot, you must promise me 
one thing.” 

“ What is that? ” 

“ That you will neve r tell her ? Ah ! Peter, if you knew 
how I love the little woman, and how she loves me. 
From no other man can she learn what will alter that 
love. Don’t make my consent bring us both suffering ? ” 

“Watts, I give my word she shall never know the truth 
from me.” 

“God bless you, Peter. True as ever. Then that is 
settled. You shall have a clear field and every chance.” 

“ I fear not. There’s something more. Mrs. D’Alloi 
won’t pardon that incident — nor do I blame her. I can’t 
force my presence here if she does not give her consent. It 
would be too cruel, even if I could hope to succeed in spite 
of her. I want to see her this morning. You can tell 
better than I whether you had best speak to her first, or 
whether I shall tell her.” 

“H’m. That is a corker, isn’t it? Don’t you think 
you had better let things drift ? ” 

“No. I’m not going to try and win a girl’s love behind 
the mother’s back. Remember, Watts, the mother is the 
only one to whom a girl can go at such a time. We 
mustn’t try to take advantage of either.” 

“Well, I’ll speak to her, and do my best. Then I’ll 
send her to you. Help yourself to the tobacco if you 
get tired of waiting tout seul.” 

Watts went upstairs and knocked at a door. “Yes,” 
said a voice. Watts put his head in. “Is my Rosebud 
so busy that she can’t spare her lover a few moments ? ” 

“Watts, you know I live for you.” 

Watts dropped down on the lounge. “Come here, 
then, like a loving little wife, and let me say my little 
say. ” 

No woman nearing forty can resist a little tenderness 


A GOOD DAY. 


265 

in her husband, and Mrs. D’Alloi snuggled up to Watts in 
the pleasantest frame of mind. Watts leaned over and 
kissed her cheek. Then Mrs. D’Alloi snuggled some 
more. 

“Now, I want to talk with you seriously, dear,' he 
said. “Who do you think is downstairs ? ” 

“Who?” 

“Dear old Peter. And what do you think he’s come 
for 1 ” 

“What?” 

“Dot.” 

“For what?” 

“ He wants our consent, dear, to pay his addresses to 
Leonore.” 

“Oh, Watts!” Mrs. D’Alloi ceased to snuggle, and 
turned a horrified face to her husband. 

“ Fve thought she attracted him, but he’s such an im- 
passive, cool old chap, that I wasn’t sure.” 

“That’s what I’ve been so afraid of. I’ve worried so 
over it.” 

“You dear, foolish little woman. What was there to 
worry over ? ” 

“Watts ! You won’t give your consent? ” 

“Of course we will. Why, what more do you want ? 
Money, reputation, brains, health.” (That was the order 
in which Peter’s advantages ranged themselves in Watts’s 
mind). “I don’t see what more you can ask, short of a 
title, and titles not only never have all those qualities 
combined, but they are really getting decidedly nouveau 
richey and not respectable enough for a Huguenot family, 
who’ve lived two hundred and fifty years in New York. 
What a greedy mamma she is for her little girl.” 

“Oh, Watts ! But think!” 

“ It’s hard work, dear, with your eyes to look at. But 
I will, if you’ll tell me what to think about.” 

“My husband! You cannot have forgotten? Oh, 
no ! It is too horrible for you to have forgotten that 
day.” 

“You heavenly little Puritan! So you are going to 
refuse Peter as a son-in-law, because he — ah — he’s not a 
Catholic monk. Why, Rosebud, if you are going to apply 
that rule to all Dot’s lovers, you had better post a sign : 
‘Wanted, a husband. P. S. No man need apply.'” 


266 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ Watts ! Don’t talk so.” 

“Dear little woman. I’m only trying to show you 
that we can’t do better than trust our little girl to Peter.” 

“ With that stain ! Oh, Watts, give him our pure, 
innocent, spotless child ! ” 

4 ‘Oh, well. If you want a spotless wedding, let her 
marry the Church. She’ll never find one elsewhere, 
darling. ” 

“Watts! How can you talk so? And with yoursel/ 
as an example. Oh, husband ! I want our child — out 
only child — to marry a man as noble and true as hef 
father. Surely there must be others like you ? ” 

“Yes. I think there are a great many men as good as 
I, Rosebud ! But I’m no better than I should be, and 
it’s nothing but your love that makes you think I am.” 

“I won't hear you say such things of yourself. You 
know you are the best and purest man that ever lived. 
You know you are.” 

“If there’s any good in me, it’s because I married 
you. ” 

“ Watts, you couldn’t be bad if you tried.” And Mrs. 
D’Alloi put her arms round Watts’s neck and kissed him. 

Watts fondled her for a moment in true lover’s fashion. 
Then he said, “Dear little wife, a pure woman can 
never quite know what this world is. I love Dot next 
to you, and would not give her to a man whom I 
believe would not be true to her, or make her happy. I 
know every circumstance of Peter’s connection with that 
woman, and he is as blameless as man ever was. Such 
as it was, it was ended years ago, and can never give 
him more trouble. He is a strong man, and will be true 
to Dot. She might get a man who would make her life 
one long torture. She may be won by a man who only 
cares for her money, and will not even give her the husks 
of love. But Peter loves her, and has outgrown his 
mistakes. And don’t forget that but for him we might 
now have nothing but some horribly mangled remains 
to remember of our little darling. Dear, I love Dot twenty 
times more than I love Peter. For her sake, and yours, I 
am trying to do my best for her. ” 

So presently Mrs. D’Alloi came into the library, where 
Peter sat. She held out her hand to him, but Peter said : 

“Let me say something first. Mrs. D’Alloi, I would 


A GOOD BAY . 


367 

not have had that occurrence happen in your home or 
presence if I had been able to prevent it. It grieves me 
more than I can tell you. I am not a roue. In spite of 
appearances I have lived a clean life. I shall never live 
any other in the future. I — I love Leonore. Love her 
very dearly. And if you will give her to me, should I 
win her, I pledge you my word that I will give her the 
love, and tenderness, and truth which she deserves. 
Now, will you give me your hand ? ” 

“ He is speaking the truth,” thought Mrs. D’Alloi, as 
Peter spoke. She held out her hand. “I will trust her 
to you if she chooses you.” 

Half an hour later, Peter went back to the drawing, 
room, to find Leonore reposing in an exceedingly un- 
dignified position before the fire on a big tiger-skin, and 
stroking a Persian cat, who, in delight at this enviable 
treatment, purred and dug its claws into the rug. Peter 
stood for a time watching the pretty tableau, wishing he 
was a cat. 

“ Yes, Tawney-eye,” said Leonore, in heartrending 
tones, “ it isn't a good day at all.” 

“I’m going to quarrel with you on that,” said Peter. 
“ It’s a glorious day.” 

Leonore rose from the skin. “Tawney-eye and I 
don't think so.” 

“ But you will. In the first place I've explained about 
the monopoly and the photographs to your mamma, and 
she says she did not understand it, and that no one is to 
blame. Secondly, she says I’m to stay to dinner and am 
to monopolize you till then. Thirdly, she says we may 
be just as good friends as we please. Fourthly, she has 
asked me to come and stay for a week at Grey-Court this 
summer. Now, what kind of a day is it ? ” 

“Simply glorious! Isn't it, Tawney-eye?” And the 
young lady again forgot her “papas, proprieties, pota- 
toes, prunes and prisms,” and dropping down on the rug, 
buried her face in the cat’s long silky hair. Then she re- 
appeared long enough to say : 

“You are such a comforting person ! I’m so glad you 
were bom.” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


abS 


CHAPTER XLV. 

THE BOSS. 

After this statement, so satisfying to both, Leonore re* 
covered her dignity enough to rise, and say, “Now, 1 
want to pay you for your niceness. What do you wish 
to do ? ” 

“Suppose we do what pleases you.” 

“No. I want to please you.” 

“ That is the way to please me, ” said Peter emphatically. 

Just then a clock struck four. “I know,” said Leonore. 
“Come to the tea-table, and we’ll have afternoon tea 
together. It’s the day of all others for afternoon tea.’' 

“ I just said it was a glorious day.” 

“ Oh, yes. It’s a nice day. But it’s dark and cold and 
rainy all the same. ” 

“ But that makes it all the better. We shan’t be inter- 
rupted.” 

“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that Miss De Voe 
told me once that you were a man who found good in 
everything, and I see what she meant.” 

“ I can’t hold a candle to Dennis. He says its ‘ a foine 
day ’ so that you feel that it really is. I never saw him 
in my life, when it wasn’t 4 a foine day.’ I tell him he 
carries his sunshine round in his heart.” 

“You are so different,” said Leonore, “from what 
every one said. I never knew a man pay such nice 
compliments. That’s the seventh I’ve heard you make.” 

“You know I’m a politician, and want to become 
popular.” 

“Oh, Peter ! Will you let me ask you something? ” 

“Anything,” said Peter, rashly, though speaking the 
absolute truth. Peter just then was willing to promise 
anything. Perhaps it was the warm cup of tea ; perhaps 
it was the blazing logs ; perhaps it was the shade of the 
lamp, which cast such a pleasant rosy tint over every- 
thing ; perhaps it was the comfortable chair ; perhaps it 


THE BOSS. 2O9 

was that charming face ; perhaps it was what Mr. Man- 
talini called the “demd total.” 

“You see,” said Leonore, shaking her head in a puzzled 
way, “I’ve begun to read the papers — the political part, 
I mean — and there are so many things I don’t understand 
which I want to ask you to explain. ” 

“That is very nice,” said Peter, “because there are a 
great many things of which I want to tell you.” 

“Goody ! ” said Leonore, forgetting again she was now 
bound to conduct herself as befit a society girl. “And 
you’ll not laugh at me if I ask foolish questions ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then what do the papers mean by calling you a 
boss ? ” 

“That I am supposed to have sufficient political power 
to dictate to a certain extent.” 

“But don’t they speak of a boss as something not 
mice ? ” asked Leonore, a little timidly, as if afraid of hurt- 
ing Peter’s feelings. 

“Usually it is used as a stigma,” said Peter, smiling. 
“At least by the kind of papers you probably read.” 

“ But you are not a bad boss, are you? ” said Leonore, 
very earnestly. 

“ Some of the papers say so.” 

“That’s what surprised me. Of course I knew they 
were wrong, but are bosses bad, and are you a boss ? ” 

“You are asking me one of the biggest questions in 
American politics. I probably can’t answer it, but I’ll try 
to show you why I can’t. Are there not friends whose 
advice or wish would influence you ? ” 

“Yes. Like you, ” said Leonore, giving Peter a glimpse 
of her eyes. 

“Really,” thought Peter, “if she does that often, I 
can’t talk abstract politics.” Then he rallied and said: 
“Well, that is the condition of men as well, and it is that 
condition, which creates the so-called boss. In every 
community there are men who influence more or less the 
rest. It may be that one can only influence half a dozen 
other intimates. Another may exert power over fifty. A 
third may sway a thousand. One may do it by mere phys- 
ical superiority. Another by a friendly manner. A third 
by being better informed. A fourth by a deception or bri- 
bery. A fifth by honesty. Each has something that domi* 


270 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

nates the weaker men about him. T ake my ward. Burton 
is a prize-fighter, and physically a splendid man. So he has 
his little court. Driscoll is a humorist, and can talk, an& 
he has his admirers. Sloftky is popular with the Jews, 
because he is of their race. Burrows is a policeman, who 
is liked by the whole ward, because of his kindness and 
good-nature. So I could go on telling you of men who 
are a little more marked than the rest, who have power to 
influence the opinions of men about them, and therefore 
have power to influence votes. That is the first step in 
the ladder. ” 

“ But isn’t Mr. Moriarty one ? ” 

“ He comes in the next grade. Each of the men I have 
mentioned can usually affect an average of twenty-five 
votes. But now we get to another rung of the ladder. 
Here we have Dennis, and such men as Blunkers, Denton, 
Kennedy, Schlurger and others. They not merely have 
their own set of followers, but they have more or less 
power to dominate the little bosses of whom I have already 
spoken. Take Dennis for instance. He has fifty ad- 
herents who stick to him absolutely, two hundred and 
fifty who listen to him with interest, and a dozen of the 
smaller bosses, who pass his opinions to their followers. 
So he can thus have some effect on about five hundred 
votes. Of course it takes more force and popularity to do 
this and in this way we have a better grade of men. ” 

‘‘Yes. I like Mr. Moriarty, and can understand why 
others do. He is so ugly, and so honest, and so jolly. 
He’s lovely.” 

“Then we get another grade. Usually men of a good 
deal of brain force, though not of necessity well educated. 
They influence all below them by being better informed, 
and by being more far-seeing. Such men as Gallagher 
and Dummer. They, too, are usually in politics for a living, 
and so can take the trouble to work for ends for which 
the men with other work have no time. They don’t need 
the great personal popularity of those I have just men- 
tioned, but they need far more skill and brain. Now you 
can see, that these last, in order to carry out their inten- 
tions, must meet and try to arrange to pull together, for 
otherwise they can do nothing. Naturally, in a dozen or 
twenty men, there will be grades, and very often a single 
man will be able to dominate them all, just as the 


THE BOSS. 


27X 


Smaller bosses dominate the smaller men. And this man 
the papers call a boss of a ward. Then when these 
various ward bosses endeavor to unite for general pur- 
poses, the strongest man will sway them, and he is 
boss of the city/' 

“ And that is what you are ? ” 

“Yes. By that I mean that nothing is attempted in 
the ward or city without consultation with me. But of 
course I am more dependent on the voters than they are 
on me, for if they choose to do differently from what I 
advise, they have the power, while I am helpless. ” 

“You mean the smaller bosses ? ” 

“Not so much them as the actual voters. A few times 
I have shot right over the heads of the bosses and 
appealed directly to the voters.” 

“ Then you can make them do what you want ? ” 
“Within limits, yes. As I told you, I am absolutely 
dependent on the voters. If they should defeat what I 
want three times running, every one would laugh at me, 
and my power would be gone. So you see that a boss is 
only a boss so long as he can influence votes.” 

“But they haven’t defeated you ? ” 

“ No, not yet.” 

“But if the voters took their opinions from the other 
bosses how did you do anything ? ” 

“There comes in the problem of practical politics. 
The question of who can affect the voters most. Take 
my own ward. Suppose that I want something done so 
much that I insist. And suppose that some of the other 
leaders are equally determined that it shan’t be done. 
The ward splits on the question and each faction tries to 
gain control in the primary. When I have had to inter- 
fere, I go right down among the voters and tell them why 
and what I want to do. Then the men I have had to 
antagonize do the same, and the voters decide between 
us. It then is a question as to which side can win the 
majority of the voters. Because I have been very success- 
ful in this, I am the so-called boss. That is, I can make 
the voters feel that I am right. ” 

“How?” 

“ For many reasons. First, I have always tried to tell 
the voters the truth, and never have been afraid to acknowl- 
edge I was wrong, when I found I had made a mistake, 


*72 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


so people trust what I say. Then, unlike most of the 
leaders in politics, I am not trying to get myself office 
or profit, and so the men feel that I am disinterested 
Then I try to be friendly with the whole ward, so that if 
I have to do what they don’t like, their personal feeling 
for me will do what my arguments never could. With 
these simple, strong-feeling, and unreasoning folk, one 
can get ten times the influence by a warm hand-shake 
and word that one can by a logical argument. We are 
so used to believing what we read, if it seems reasonable, 
that it is hard for us to understand that men who spell 
out editorials with difficulty, and who have not been 
trained to reason from facts, are not swayed by what to 
us seems an obvious argument. But, on the contrary, if 
a man they trust, puts it in plain language to them, they 
see it at once. I might write a careful editorial, and ask 
my ward to read it, and unless they knew I wrote it, they 
probably wouldn’t be convinced in the least. But let me 
go into the saloons, and tell the men just the same thing, 
and there isn’t a man who wouldn’t be influenced by it.” 

“You are so popular in the ward? ” asked Leonore. 

“I think so. I find kind words and welcome every- 
where. But then I have tried very hard to be popular. 
I have endeavored to make a friend of every man in it 
with whom one could be friendly, because I wished to be 
as powerful as possible, so that the men would side with 
me vrhenever I put my foot down on something wrong . 99 

“ Do you ever tell the ward how they are to vote ? 9f 

“I tell them my views. But never how to vote. 
Once I came very near it, though.” 

“ How was that ? ” 

“ I was laid up for eight months by my eyes, part ot 
the time in Paris. The primary in the meantime had put 
up a pretty poor man for an office. A fellow who had 
been sentenced for murder, but had been pardoned by 
political influence. When I was able to take a hand, I 
felt that I could do better by interfering, so I came out 
for the Republican candidate, who was a really fine 
fellow. I tried to see and talk to every man in the ward, 
and on election day I asked a good many men, as a per- 
sonal favor, to vote for the Republican, and my friends 
asked others. Even Dennis Moriarty worked and voted 
for what he calls a * dirty Republican/ though he said 


THE BOSS . 


273 

* he never thought he’d soil his hands wid one av their 
ballots. * That is the nearest I ever came to telling them 
how to vote.” 

“ And did they do as you asked ? 99 

“ The only Republican the ward has chosen since 1862 
was elected in that year. It was a great surprise to 
every one — even to myself — for the ward is Democratic 
by about four thousand majority. But I couldn’t do that 
sort of thing often, for the men wouldn’t stand it. In 
other words, I can only do what I want myself, by doing 
enough else that the men wish. That is, the more I can 
do to please the men, the more they yield their opinions 
to mine.” 

“ Then the bosses really can’t do what they want? ” 

“No. Or at least not for long. That is a newspaper 
fallacy. A relic of the old idea that great things are done 
by one-man power. If you will go over the men who 
are said to control — the bosses, as they are called — in this 
city, you will find that they all have worked their way 
into influence slowly, and have been many years kept in 
power, though they could be turned out in a single fight. 
Yet this power is obtained only by the wish of a majority, 
for the day they lose the consent of a majority of the 
voters that day their power ends. We are really more 
dependent than the representatives, for they are elected 
for a certain time, while our tenure can be ended at any 
moment. Why am I a power in my ward? Because I 
am supposed to represent a given number of votes, which 
are influenced by my opinions. It would be perfectly 
immaterial to my importance how I influenced those 
votes, so long as I could control them. But because I 
can influence them, the other leaders don’t dare to 
antagonize me, and so I can have my way up to a certain 
point. And because I can control the ward I have made 
it a great power in city politics.” 

“ How did you do that ? ” 

“By keeping down the factional feeling. You see 
there are always more men struggling for power or office, 
than can have it, and so there cannot but be bad blood 
between the contestants. For instance, when I first 
became interested in politics, Moriarty and Blunkers 
were quite as anxious to down each other as to down the 
Republicans. Now they are sworn friends, made so in 


274 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


this case, by mere personal liking for me. Some have 
been quieted in this way. Others by being held in check. 
Still others by different means. Each man has to be 
studied and understood, and the particular course taken 
which seems best in his particular case. But I succeeded 
even with some who were pretty bitter antagonists at 
first, and from being one of the most uncertain wards in 
the city, the sixth has been known at headquarters for the 
last five years as ‘ old reliability ’ from the big majority it 
always polls. So at headquarters I am looked up to and 
consulted. Now do you understand why and what a 
boss is ? ” 

“Yes, Peter. Except why bosses are bad.” 

“Don’t you see that it depends on what kind of men 
they are, and what kind of voters are back of them. A 
good man, with honest votes back of him, is a good boss, 
and vice versa. ” 

“Then I know you are a good boss. It’s a great pity 
that all the bosses can’t be good ? ” 

“I have not found them so bad. They are quite as 
honest, unselfish, and reasonable as the average of man- 
kind. Now and then there is a bad man, as there is likely 
to be anywhere. But in my whole political career, I have 
never known a man who could control a thousand votes 
for five years, who was not a better man, all in all, than 
the voters whom he influenced. More one cannot expect. 
The people are not quick, but they find out a knave or a 
demagogue if you give them time. ” 

“It’s the old saying : "you can fool all of the people, 
some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, 
but you can’t fool all of the people all of the time/” 
laughed a voice. 

Peter took his eyes off Leonore’s face, where they had 
been resting restfully, and glanced up. Watts had entered 
Ithe room. 

“Go on,” said Watts. “Don’t let me interrupt your 
political disquisitions ; I have only come in for a cup of 
tea.” 

“ Miss D’Alloi and I were merely discussing bosses/ ” 
said Peter. “ Miss D’Alloi, when women get the ballot, 
as I hope they will, I trust you will be a good boss, for I 
am sure you will influence a great many votes. ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Leonore, laughing, “ I shan’t be a boss at 


THE BETTER ELEMENT. 


275 

all. You’ll be my boss, I think, and I’ll always vote for 
you. ” 

Peter thought the day even more glorious than he had 
before. 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

THE BETTER ELEMENT. 

The evening after this glorious day, Peter came in from 
his ride, but instead of going at once to his room, he 
passed down a little passage, and stood in a doorway. 

“ Is everything going right, Jenifer? ” he queried. 

“ Yissah ! ” 

“ The flowers came from Thorley’s ? ” 

“ Yissah ! ” 

“ And the candies and ices from Maillard?” 

“ Yissah ! ” 

“And you’ve frappb the champagne ? ” 

“Yissah?” 

“ Jenifer, don’t put quite so much onion juice as usual in 
the Queen Isabella dressing. Ladies don’t like it as much 
as men.” 

“ Yissah ) ” 

“ And you stood the Burgundy in the sun ? ” 

“Yissah ! Wha foh yo’ think I doan do as I ginl’y do ? ” 

Jenifer was combining into a stuffing bread crumbs, 
chopped broiled oysters, onions, and many other myste- 
rious ingredients, and was becoming irritated at such 
evident doubt of his abilities. 

Peter ought to have been satisfied, but he only looked 
worried. He glanced round the little closet that served as 
a kitchen, in search of possible sources for slips, but did 
not see them. All he was able to say was, “ That broth 
smells very nice, Jenifer.” 

“ Yissah. Dar ain’t nufifin in dat sup buh a quart a thick 
cream, and de squeezin’s of a hunerd clams, sah. Dat 
sup will make de angels sorry dey died. Dey’ll just tink 
you’se dreful unkine not to offer dem a secon’ help. Buh 
doan yo’ do it, sah, foh when dey gits to dem prayhens, 
dey’ll be pow’ful glad yo’ didn’t.” To himself, Jenifer 
Temarked : “ Who he gwine hab dis day ? He neber so 


2 7 6 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

anxious befoh, not even when de Presidint an Guv’noi 
Pohter dey dun dine hyah.” 

Peter went to his room and, after a due course of club- 
bing and tubbing, dressed himself with the utmost care. 
Truth compels the confession that he looked in his glass 
for some minutes. Not, however, apparently with much 
pleasure, for an anxious look came into his face, and he 
remarked aloud, as he turned away t “I don’t look so old, 
but I once heard Watts say that 1 should never take a 
prize for my looks, and he was right. I wonder if she 
cares for handsome men ? ” 

Peter forgot his worry in the opening of a box in the 
dining-room and the taking out of the flowers. He placed 
the bunches at the different places, raising one of the 
bouquets of violets to his lips, before he laid it down. Then 
he took the cut flowers, and smilax, and spread them 
loosely in the centre of the little table, which otherwise 
had nothing on it, except the furnishings placed at each 
seat. After that he again kissed a bunch of violets. 
History doesn’t state whether it was the same bunch. 
Peter must have been very fond of flowers ! 

“ Peter,” called a voice. 

“ Is that you, Le Grand? Go right into my room.” 

“ I’ve done that already. You see I feel at home. How 
are you ? ” he continued, as Peter joined him in the study. 

“ As always.” 

“ I thought I would run in early, so as to have a bit of 
you before the rest. Peter, here’s a letter from Muller. He’s 
got that ‘ Descent ’ in its first state, in the most brilliant 
condition. You had better get it, and trash your present 
impression. It has always looked cheap beside the rest. ” 

“Very well. Will you attend to it? ” 

, Just then came the sound of voices and the rustle of 
draperies in the little hall. 

“Hello! Ladies?” said Le Grand. “This is to be 
one of what Lispenard calls your ‘ often, frequently, only 
once ’ affairs, is it ? ” 

“ I’m afraid we are early,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. “ We did 
not know how much time to allow.” 

“No. Such old friends cannot come too soon.” 

“And as it is, I’m really starved,” said another person- 
age, shaking hands with Peter as if she had not seen him 
for a twelve-month instead of parting with him but two 


THE BETTER ELEMENT 


hours before. “ What an appetite riding in the Park does 
give one l Especially when afterwards you drive, and 
drive, and drive, over New York stones. ” 

“ Ah,” cried Madame. “ Cest iris bien / ” 

“Isn’t it jolly?” responded Leonore. 

“ But it is not American. It is Parisian.” 

“Oh, no, it isn’t ! It’s all American. Isn’t it, Peter?” 

But Peter was telling Jenifer to hasten the serving of 
dinner. So Leonore had to fight her country’s battles by 
herself. 

“What’s all this to-day’s papers are saying, Peter ? ” 
asked Watts, as soon as they were seated. 

“ That’s rather a large subject even for a slow dinner.” 

“ I mean about the row in the Democratic organization 
over the nomination for governor ? ” 

“The papers seem to know more about it than I do,” 
said Peter calmly. 

Le Grand laughed. “ Miss De Voe, Ogden, Rivington 
— all of us, have tried to get Peter, first and last, to talk 
politics, but not a fact do we get. They say it’s his 
ability to hold his tongue which made Costell trust him 
and push him, and that that was the reason he was chosen 
to fill Costell’s place. ” 

“I don’t fill his place,” said Peter. “No one can do 
that. I merely succeeded him. And Miss D’Alloi will 
tell you that the papers calling me ‘ Taciturnity Junior 9 
is a libel. Am I not a talker, Miss D’Alloi? ” 

“I really can’t find out,” responded Leonore, with a 
puzzled look. “ People say you are not.” 

“ I didn’t think you would fail me after the other night. ” 

“Ah,” said madame. “The quiet men are the great 
aien. Look at the French.” 

“ Oh, madame ! ” exclaimed Leonore. 

“You are joking ” cried Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“ That’s delicious,” laughed Watts. 

“ Whew,” said Le Grand, under his breath. 

“Ah ! Why do you cry out? Mr. Stirling, am I not 
right ? ” Madame appealed to the one face on which no 
amusement or skepticism was shown. 

“ I think it is rather dangerous to ascribe any particular 
tiait to any nationality. It is usually misleading. But 
most men who think much, talk little, and the French 
have many thinkers,” 


278 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“ I always liked Von Moltke, just for it being said of 
him that he could be silent in seven languages/' said 
Le Grand. 

“Yes,” said Leonore. “It's so restful. We crossed 
on the steamer with a French Marquis who can speak 
six languages, and can’t say one thing worth listening to 
*n any.” 

Peter thought the soup all Jenifer had cracked it up to 
be. 

“Peter,” said Leonore, turning to him, “Mr. Le Grand 
said that you never will talk politics with anybody. 
That doesn’t include me, of course ? ” 

“No,” said Peter promptly. 

“I thought it didn’t,” said Leonore, her eyes dancing 
with pleasure, however, at the reply. “We had Mr. Pell 
to lunch to-day and I spoke to him as to what you said 
about the bosses, and he told me that bosses could never 
be really good, unless the better element were allowed to 
vote, and not the saloon-keepers and roughs. I could 
see he was right, at once.” 

“From his point of view. Or rather the view of his 
class ” 

“ Don’t you think so ? ” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“Broadly speaking, all persons of sound mind are en« 
titled to vote on the men and the laws which are to govern 
them. Aside from this, every ounce of brain or experience 
you can add to the ballot, makes it more certain. Sup- 
pose you say that half the people are too ignorant to vote 
sensibly. Don’t you see that there is an even chance, at 
least, that they’ll vote rightly, and if the wrong half car- 
ries the election, it is because more intelligent people 
have voted wrongly, have not voted, or have not taken 
the trouble to try and show the people the right way, but 
have left them to the mercies of the demagogue. If we 
grant that every man who takes care of himself has some 
brain, and some experience, his vote is of some value, 
even if not a high one. Suppose we have an eagle, and 
a thousand pennies. Are we any better off by tossing 
away the coppers, because each is worth so little. That 
is why I have always advocated giving the franchise to 
women. If we can add ten million voters to an election, 


THE BETTER ELEMENT 


279 

we have added just so much knowledge to it, and made 
it just so much the harder to mislead or buy enough votes 
to change results. ” 

“You evidently believe , K said Watts, “in the saying, 
‘Everybody knows more than anybody ? ' ” 

Peter had forgotten all about his company in his interest 
over — over the franchise. So he started slightly at this 
question, and looked up from — from his subject. 

“Yes,” said Le Grand. “We’ve been listening and 
longing to ask questions. When we see such a fit of 
loquacity, we want to seize the opportunity.” 

“No,” said Leonore, “I haven’t finished. Tell me. 
Can’t you make the men do what you want, so as to have 
them choose only the best men ? ” 

“ If I had the actual power I would not,” said Peter. 

“Why?” 

“Because I would not dare to become responsible for 
so much, and because a government of the ‘ best ’ men is 
not an American government.” 

“Why not ? ” 

“ That is the aristocratic idea. That the better element, 
so called, shall compel the masses to be good, whether 
they wish it or no. Just as one makes a child behave 
without regard to its own desires. With grown men, 
such a system only results in widening the distance 
between the classes and masses, making the latter more 
dependent and unthinking. Whereas, if we make every 
man vote he must think a little for himself, because dif- 
ferent people advise nim contrarily, and thus we bring 
him nearer to the more educated. He even educates him- 
self by his own mistakes ; for every bad man elected, and 
every bad law passed, make him suffer the results, and 
he can only blame himself. Of course we don’t get as 
good a government or laws, but then we have other off- 
setting advantages.” 

“ What are those ? n 

“We get men and laws which are the wish of the 
majority. Such are almost self-supporting and self- 
administering. It is not a mere combination of words, 
printing-ink, and white paper which makes a law. It 
is the popular sentiment back of it which enforces it, 
and unless a law is the wish of a majority of the people 
who are to be governed by it, it is either a dead letter^ 


fi3o THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

i 

or must be enforced by elaborate police systems, sup- 
ported oftentimes with great armies. Even then it does 
not succeed, if the people choose to resist. Look at the 
attempt to govern Ireland by force, in the face of popular 
sentiment. Then, too, we get a stability almost un- 
known in governments which do not conform to the 
people. This country has altered its system of govern- 
ment less than any other great country in the last hun- 
dred years. And there is less socialistic legislation and 
propaganda here than anywhere else. That is, less dis- 
content. ” 

“ But, Peter, if the American people are as sensible as 
you think, how do you account for the kind of men who 
exercise control ? ” said Le Grand. 

“ By better men not trying.” 

4 ‘But we have reform movements all the time, led by 
good men. Why aren’t these men elected ? ” 

“Who are as absolutely inexperienced and blind as to 
the way to influence votes, as well can be. Look at it, 
as a contest, without regard to the merit of the cause. 
On one side we have bosses, who know and understand 
the men in their wards, have usually made themselves 
popular, are in politics for a living, have made it a life- 
study, and by dear experience have learned that they 
must surrender their own opinions in order to produce 
harmony and a solid vote. The reformer, on the con- 
trary, is usually a man who has other occupations, and, if 
I may say so, has usually met with only partial success 
in them. By that I mean that the really successful mer- 
chant, or banker, or professional man cannot take time to 
work in politics, and so only the less successful try. 
Each reformer, too, is sure that he himself is right, and 
as his bread and butter is not in the issue, he quarrels to 
his heart’s content with his associates, so that they rarely 
can unite all their force. Most of the reform movements 
in this city have been attempted in a way that is simply 
laughable. What should we say if a hundred busy men 
were to get together to-morrow, and decide that they 
would open a great bank, to fight the clearing-house 
banks of New York? Yet this, in effect, is what the 
reformers have done over and over again in politics. 
They say to the men who have been kept in power for 
years by the people, ‘You are scoundrels. The people 


THE BETTER ELEMENT 


281 


who elected you are ignorant. We know how to do it 
better. Now we’ll turn you out.’ In short, they tell the 
majority they are fools, but ask their votes. The average 
reformer endorses thoroughly the theory ‘ that every man 
is as good as another, and a little better/ And he himself 
always is the better man. The people won’t stand that. 
The ‘ holier than thou ’ will defeat a man quicker in this 
country than will any rascality he may have done/’ 

“But don’t you think the reformer is right in principle ? ” 

“In nine cases out often. But politics does not con- 
sist in being right. It’s in making other people think you 
are. Men don’t like to be told that they are ignorant and 
wrong, and this assumption is the basis of most of the 
so-called educational campaigns. To give impetus to a 
new movement takes immense experience, shrewdness, 
tact, and many other qualities. The people are obstruc- 
tive — that is conservative — in most things, and need 
plenty of time.” 

“ Unless you tell them what they are to do,” laughed 
Watts. “ Then they know quick enough.” 

“Well, that has taken them fifteen years to learn. 
Don’t you see how absurd it is to suppose that the people 
are going to take the opinions of the better element off- 
hand? At the end of a three months’ campaign ? Men 
have come into my ward and spoken to empty halls ; 
they’ve flooded it with campaign literature, which has 
served to light fires ; their papers have argued, and 
nobody read them. But the ward knows me. There’s 
hardly a voter who doesn’t. They’ve tested me. Most 
of them like me. I’ve lived among them for years. I’ve 
gone on their summer excursions. I’ve talked with them 
all over the district. I have helped them in their troubles. 
I have said a kind word over their dead. I’m godfather 
to many. With others I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder 
when the bullets were flying. Why, the voters who were 
children when I first came here, with whom I use to sit in 
the angle, are almost numerous enough now to carry an 
election as I advise. Do you suppose, because speakers, 
unknown to them, say I’m wrong, and because the three- 
cent papers, which they never see, abuse me, that they 
are going to turn from me unless I make them ? That is 
the true secret of the failure of reformers. A logical argu- 
ment is all right in a court of appeals, but when it comes 


2 82 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

to swaying 1 five thousand votes, give me five thousand 
loving hearts rather than five thousand logical reasons.” 

“ Yet you have carried reforms.” 

“ I have tried, but always in a practical way. That is, 
by not antagonizing the popular men in politics, but by 
becoming one of them and making them help me. I 
have gained political power by recognizing that I could 
only have my own way by making it suit the voters. 
You see there are a great many methods of doing 
about the same thing. And the boss who does the 
most things that the people want, can do the most things 
that the people don’t want. Every time I have surren- 
dered my own wishes, and done about what the people 
desire, I have added to my power, and so have been able 
to do something that the people or politicians do not care 
about or did not like.” 

“ And as a result you are called all sorts of names.” 

“ Yes. The papers call me a boss. If the voters didn’t 
agree with me, they would call me a reformer.” 

“But, Peter,” said Le Grand, “would you not like to 
see such a' type of man as George William Curtis in 
office?” 

“Mr. Curtis probably stood for the noblest political 
ideas this country has ever produced. But he held a 
beacon only to a small class. A man who writes from 
an easy-chair, will only sway easy-chair people. And 
easy-chair people never carried an election in this country, 
and never will. This country cannot have a government 
of the best. It will always be a government of the aver- 
age. Mr. Curtis was only a leader to his own grade, just 
as Tim Sullivan is the leader of his. Mr. Curtis, in his 
editorials, spoke the feelings of one element in America. 
Sullivan, in Germania Hall, voices another. Each is rep- 
resentative, the one of five per cent, of New York; the 
other of ninety-five per cent. If the American people 
have decided one thing, it is that they will not be taken 
care of, nor coercively ruled, by their better element, or 
minorities.” 

“Yet you will acknowledge that Curtis ought to rule, 
rather than Sullivan ? ” 

“Not if our government is to be representative. I 
need not say that I wish such a type as Mr. Curtis was 
representative.” 


THE BETTER ELEMENT. 283 

“ I suppose if he had tried to be a boss he would have 
failed ? ” 

“ I think so. For it requires as unusual a combination 
of qualities to be a successful boss, as to be a successful 
merchant or banker. Yet one cannot tell. I myself have 
never been able to say what elements make a boss, ex- 
cept that he must be in sympathy with the men whom 
he tries to guide, and that he must be meeting them. 
Mr. Curtis had a broad, loving nature and sympathies, 
and if the people had discovered them, they would have 
liked him. But the reserve which comes with culture 
makes one largely conceal one’s true feelings. Super-re- 
finement puts a man out of sympathy with much that is 
basic in humanity, and it needs a great love, or a great 
sacrifice of feeling, to condone it. It is hard work for 
what Watts calls a tough, and such a man, to understand 
and admire one another.” 

“But don’t you think,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “that the 
people of our class are better and finer ? ” 

“The expression * noblesse oblige’ shows that,” said 
madame. 

“ My experience has led me to think otherwise,” said 
Peter. “Of course there is a difference of standards, of 
ideals, and of education, in people, and therefore there 
are differences in conduct. But for their knowledge of 
what is right and wrong, I do not think the so-called bet- 
ter classes, which should, in truth, be called the prosper- 
ous classes, live up to their own standards of right any 
more than do the poor.” 

“ Oh, I say, draw it mild. At least exclude the 
criminal classes,” cried Watts. “They know better.” 

“We all know better. But we don’t live up to our 
knowledge. I crossed on one of the big Atlantic liners 
lately, with five hundred other saloon passengers. They 
were naturally people of intelligence, and presumably of 
easy circumstances. Yet at least half of those people 
were plotting to rob our government of money by con- 
triving plans to avoid paying duties truly owed. To do 
this all of them had to break our laws, and in most cases 
had, in addition, to lie deliberately. Many of them were 
planning to accomplish this theft by the bribery of the 
custom-house inspectors, thus not merely making thieves 
of themselves, but bribing other men to do wrong. In 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


484 

this city I can show you blocks so densely inhabited that 
they are election districts in themselves. Blocks in which 
twenty people live and sleep in a single room, year 
after year ; where the birth of a little life into the world 
means that all must eat less and be less warm ; where 
man and woman, old and young, must shiver in winter, 
and stifle in summer ; where there is not room to bury 
the people who live in the block within the ground 
on which they dwell. But I cannot find you, in the 
poorest and vilest parts of this city, any block where the 
percentage of liars and thieves and bribe-givers is as large 
as was that among the first-class passengers of that float- 
ing palace. Each condition of society has its own mis- 
doings, and I believe varies little in the percentage of 
wrong-doers to the whole.” 

4 ‘To hear Peter talk you would think the whole of us 
ought to be sentenced to life terms,” laughed Watts. “I 
believe it’s only an attempt on his part to increase the 
practice of lawyers.” 

“Do you really think people are so bad, Peter? ” asked 
Leon ore, sadly. 

“No. I have not, ten times in my life, met a man whom 
I should now call bad. I have met men whom I thought 
so, but when I knew them better I found the good in 
them more than balancing the evil. Our mistake is in 
supposing that some men are ‘good" and others ‘bad/ 
and that a sharp line can be drawn between them. The 
truth is, that every man has both qualities in him and 
in very few does the evil overbalance the good. I 
marvel at the goodness I find in humanity, when I see 
the temptation and opportunity there is to do wrong.” 

“Some men are really depraved, though,” said Mrs. 
D’Alloi. 

“ Yes,” said madame. “ Think of those strikers ! ” 

Peter felt a thrill of pleasure pass through him, but he 
did not show it. “Let me tell you something in con- 
nection with that. A high light in place of a dark shadow. 
There was an attempt to convict some of the strikers, but 
it failed, for want of positive evidence. The moral proof, 
however, against a fellow named Connelly was so strong 
that there could be no doubt that he was guilty. Two 
years later that man started out in charge of a long 
express, up a seven-mile grade, where one of our ra& 


THE BETTER ELEMENT. 


a$5 

roads crosses the Alleghanies. By the lay of the land 
every inch of that seven miles of track can be seen 
throughout its entire length, and when he had pulled half 
way up, he saw a section of a freight train coming down 
the grade at a tremendous speed. A coupling had 
broken, and this part of the train was without a man to 
put on the brakes. To go on was death. To stand still 
was the same. No speed which he could give his train 
by backing would enable it to escape those uncontrolled 
cars. He sent his fireman back to the first car, with 
orders to uncouple the engine. He whistled ‘ on brakes * 
to his train, so that it should be held on the grade safely. 
And he, and the engine alone, went on up that grade, and 
met that flying mass of freight. He saved two hundred 
people’s lives. Yet that man, two years before, had 
tried to burn alive forty of his fellow-men. Was that man 
good or bad ? ” 

“ Really, chum, if you ask it as a conundrum, I give it 
up. But there are thoroughly and wholly good things in 
this world, and one of them is this stuffing. Would it be 
possible for a fellow to have a second help ? ’ 

Peter smiled. “Jenifer always makes the portions 
according to what is to follow, and I don’t believe he’ll 
think you had better. Jenifer, can Mr. D’Alloi have 
some more stuffing ? ” 

“Yissah,” said Jenifer, grinning the true darkey grin, 
“if de gentmun want ’t sell his ap’tite foh a mess ob 
potash. " 

“Never mind,” said Watts. “I’m not a dyspeptic, 
and so don’t need potash. But you might wrap the rest 
up in a piece of newspaper, and I’ll take it home.” 

“ Peter, you must have met a great many men in politics 
whom you knew to be dishonest?” said Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“No. I have known few men whom I could call 
dishonest. But then I make a great distinction between 
the doer of a dishonest act and a dishonest man.” 

“That is what the English call ‘a fine-spun’ dis- 
tinction, I think,” said madame. 

“I hope not. A dishonest man I hold to be one who 
works steadily and persistently with bad means and 
motives. But there are many men whose lives tell far 
more for good than for evil in the whole, yet who are not 
above doing wrong at moments or under certain circum- 


286 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


stances. This man will lie under given conditions or 
temptations. Another will bribe, if the inducement is 
strong enough. A third will merely trick. Almost every 
man has a weak spot somewhere. Yet why let this one 
weakness — a partial moral obliquity or imperfection — 
make us cast him aside as useless and evil. As soon say 
that man physically is spoiled, because he is near-sighted, 
lame or stupid. If we had our choice between a new, 
bright, keen tool, or a worn, dull one, of poor material, 
we should not hesitate which to use. But if we only 
have the latter, how foolish to refuse to employ it as we 
may, because we know there are in the world a few 
better ones.” 

“Is not condoning a man’s sins, by failing to blame 
him, direct encouragement to them ? ” said Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“One need not condone the sin. My rule has been, 
in politics, or elsewhere, to fight dishonesty wherever I 
found it. But I try to fight the act, not the man. And if 
I find the evil done beyond hope of correction, I do not 
antagonize the doer of it. More can be done by amity 
and forbearance than by embittering and alienating. 
Man is not bettered by being told that he is bad. I had 
an alderman in here three or four days ago who was up 
to mischief. I could have called him a scoundrel, with- 
out telling him untruth. But I didn’t. I told him what I 
thought was right, in a friendly way, and succeeded in 
straightening him out, so that he dropped his intention, 
yet went away my friend. If I had quarrelled with him, 
we should have parted company, he would have done 
the wrong, I should have fought him when election time 
came — and defeated him. But he, and probably fifty of 
his adherents in the ward would have become my bitter 
enemies, and opposed everything I tried in the future. 
If I quarrelled with enough such men, I should in 
time entirely lose my influence in the ward, or have it 
generally lessened. But by dealing as a friend with him, 
I actually prevented his doing what he intended, and we 
shall continue to work together. Of course a man can 
be so bad that this course is impossible, but they are as 
few in politics as they are elsewhere.” 

“Taciturnity Stirling in his great circus feat of riding a 
Whole ward at once,” said Watts. 

“I don’t claim that I’m right,” said Peter. “ I once 


THE BETTER ELEMENT 


287 

thought very differently. I started out very hotly as a 
reformer when I began life. But I have learned that 
humanity is not reformed with a club, and that if most 
people gave the energy they spend in reforming the world, 
or their friends, to reforming themselves, there would be 
no need of reformers/' 

“The old English saying that ‘people who can't mind 
their own business invariably mind some one’s else,' seems 
applicable,'' said Watts. 

“ But is it not very humiliating to you to have to be 
friends with such men ? ” said Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“ You know Mr. Drewitt? " asked Peter. 

“Yes," said all but madame. 

“ Do you take pleasure in knowing him ? ” 

“Of course," said Watts. “He’s very amusing and a 
regular parlor pet. " 

“ That is the reason I took him. For ten years that 
man was notoriously one of the worst influences in New 
York State politics. At Albany, in the interest of a great 
corporation, he was responsible for every job and bit of 
lobbying done in its behalf. I don’t mean to say that he 
really bribed men himself, for he had lieutenants for the 
actual dirty work, but every dollar spent passed through 
his hands, and he knew for what purpose it was used. At 
the end of that time, so well had he done his work, that 
he was made president of the corporation. Because of 
that position, and because he is clever, New York society 
swallowed him and has ever since delighted to f£te him. 
I find it no harder to shake hands and associate with the 
men he bribed, than you do to shake hands and associate 
with the man who gave the bribe.” 

“Even supposing the great breweries, and railroads, 
and other interests to be chiefly responsible for bribery, 
that makes it all the more necessary to elect men above 
the possibility of being bribed," said Le Grand. “Why 
not do as they do in Parliament ? Elect only men of such 
high character and wealth, that money has no temptation 
for them." 

“ The rich man is no better than the poor man, except 
that in place of being bribed by other men's money, he 
allows his own money to bribe him. Look at the course 
of the House of Lords on the corn-laws. The slave- 
holders’ course on secession. The millionaire silver sena- 


288 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


tors' course on silver. The one was willing 1 to make every 
poor man in England pay a half more for his bread than 
need be, in order that land might rent for higher prices. 
The slave-owner was willing to destroy his own country, 
rather than see justice done. The last are willing to force 
a great commercial panic, ruining hundreds and throwing 
thousands out of employment, if they can only get a few 
cents more per ounce for their silver. Were they voting 
honestly in the interest of their fellow-men ? Or were 
'their votes bribed ? ” 

Mrs. D’Alloi rose, saying, “ Peter. We came early 
and we must go early. I'm afraid we’ve disgraced our- 
selves both ways.” 

Peter went down with them to their carriage. He said 
to Leonore in the descent, “ I'm afraid the politics were 
rather dull to you. I lectured because I wanted to make 
some things clear to you.” 

“ Why ? ” questioned Leonore. 

“Because, in the next few months you’ll see a great 
deal about bosses in the papers, and I don’t want you to 
think so badly of us as many do.” 

“I shan’t think badly of you, Peter,” said Leonore, in 
the nicest tone. 

“Thank you,” said Peter. “And if you see things 
said of me that trouble you, will you ask me about 
them?” 

“Yes. But I thought you wouldn't talk politics ? ” 

“I will talk with you, because, you know, friends must 
tell each other everything.” 

When Leonore had settled back in the carriage for the 
long drive, she cogitated : “ Mr. Le Grand said that he 

and Miss De Voe, and Mr. Ogden had all tried to get 
Peter to talk about politics, but that he never would. 
Yet, he's known them for years, and is great friends with 
them. It’s very puzzling ! " 

Probably Leonore was thinking of American politics. 


THE BLUE-PETER. 


28 q 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE BLUE-PETER. 

• Leonore's puzzle went on increasing in complexity, but 
there is a limit to all intricacy, and after a time Leonore 
began to get an inkling of the secret. She first noticed 
that Peter seemed to spend an undue amount of time with 
her. He not merely turned up in the Park daily, but 
they were constantly meeting elsewhere. Leonore went 
to a gallery. There was Peter ! She went to a concert. 
Ditto, Peter ! She visited the flower-show. So did 
Peter ! She came out of church. Behold Peter ! In each 
case with nothing better to do than to see her home. At 
first Leonore merely thought these meetings were coinci- 
dences, but their frequency soon ended this theory, and 
then Leonore noticed that Peter had a habit of question- 
ing her about her plans beforehand, and of evidently 
shaping his accordingly. 

Nor was this all. Peter seemed to be constantly trying 
to get her to spend time with him. Though the real 
summer was fast coming, he had another dinner. He had 
a box at the theatre. He borrowed a drag from Mr. Pell, 
and took them all up for a lunch at Mrs. Costell’s in 
Westchester. Then nothing would do but to have 
another drive, ending in a dinner at the Country Club. 

Flowers, too, seemed as frequent as their meetings. 
Peter had always smiled inwardly at bribing a girl’s love 
with flowers and bon-bons, but he had now discovered 
that flowers are just the thing to send a girl, if you love 
her, and that there is no bribing about it. So none could 
be too beautiful and costly for his purse. Then Leonore 
wanted a dog — a mastiff. The legal practice of the 
great firm and the politics of the city nearly stopped till 
the finest of its kind had been obtained for her. 

Another incriminating fact came to her through Dorothy. 

“I had a great surprise to-day," she told Leonore. 
“One that fills me with delight, and that will please you. " 
“ What is that ? ” 


290 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

1 ‘Peter asked me at dinner, if we weren’t to have Anneke’s 
house at Newport for the summer, and when I said ‘yes, - 
he told me that if I would save a room for him, he would 
come down Friday nights and stay over Sunday, right 
through the summer. He has been a simply impossible 
man hitherto to entice into a visit. Ray and I felt like 
giving three cheers.” 

“He seemed glad enough to be invited to visit Grey- 
Court, ” thought Leonore. 

But even without all this, Peter carried the answer to 
the puzzle about with him in his own person. Leonore 
could not but feel the difference in the way he treated, 
and talked, and looked at her, as compared to all about 
her. It is true he was no more demonstrative, than with 
others ; his face held its quiet, passive look, and he spoke 
in much the usual, quiet, even tone of voice. Yet 
Leonore was at first dimly conscious, and later certain, 
that there was a shade of eagerness in his manner, a ten- 
derness in his voice, and a look in his eye, when he was 
with her, that was there in the presence of no one else. 

So Leonore ceased to puzzle over the problem at a 
given point, having found the answer. But the solving 
did not bring her much apparent pleasure. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” she remarked to herself. “ I thought we 
were going to be such good friends ! That we could tell 
each other everything. And now he’s gone and spoiled 
it. Probably, too, he’ll be bothering me later, and then 
he’ll be disappointed, and cross, and we shan’t be good 
friends any more. Oh, dear ! Why do men have to be- 
have so ? Why can’t they just be friends ? ” 

It is a question which many women have asked. The 
query indicates a degree of modesty which should 
make the average masculine blush at his own self-love. 
The best answer to the problem we can recommend to the 
average woman is a careful and long study of a mirror. 

As a result of this cogitation Leonore decided that she 
would nip Peter’s troublesomeness in the bud, that she 
would put up a sign, “ Trespassing forbidden by which 
he might take warning. Many women have done the 
same thing to would-be lovers, and have saved the lovers 
much trouble and needless expense. But Leonore, after 
planning out a dialogue in her room, rather messed it 
when she came to put it into actual public performance 


THE BLUE- PE TEE , 


291 

Few girls of eighteen are cool over a love-affair. And sa 
it occurred thmsly : 

Leonore said to Peter one day, when he had dropped 
in for a cup of afternoon tea after his ride with her : 

“If I ask you a question, I wonder if you will tell me 
what you think, without misunderstanding why I tell 
you something? ” 

“ I will try.” 

“ Well,” said Leonore, “there is a very nice English- 
man whom I knew in London, who has followed me 
over here, and is troubling me. He’s dreadfully poor, 
and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do you 
think that can be so ? ” 

So far the public performance could not have gone bet- 
ter if it had been rehearsed. But at this point, the whole 
programme went to pieces. Peter’s cup of tea fell to the 
floor with a crash, and he was leaning back in his chair, 
with a look of suffering on his face. 

“Peter,” cried Leonore, “what is it ? ” 

■ “Excuse me,” said Peter, rallying a little. “Ever 
since an operation on my eyes they sometimes misbehave 
themselves. It’s neuralgia of the optic nerve. Sometimes 
it pains me badly. Don’t mind me. It will be all right 
in a minute if I’m quiet.” 

“Can’t I do anything?” 

“No. I have an eye-wash which I used to carry with 
me, but it is so long since I have had a return of my 
trouble that I have stopped carrying it.” 

“What causes it ?” 

“Usually a shock. It’s purely nervous.” 

“But there was no shock now, was there?” said 
Leonore, feeling so guilty that she felt it necessary to 
pretend innocence. 

Peter pulled himself together instantly and, leaning over, 
began deliberately to gather up the fragments of the cup. 
Then he laid the pieces on the tea-table and said : “I 
was dreadfully frightened when I felt the cup slipping. 
It was very stupid in me. Will you try to forgive me for 
breaking one of your pretty set? ” 

‘ ‘ That’s nothing, ” said Leonore. To herself that young 
lady remarked, “Oh, dear! It’s much worse than I 
thought. I shan’t dare say it to him, after all.” 

But she did, for Peter helped her, by going back to hei 


292 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

original question, saying bravely: “ 1 don’t know 

enough about Mr. Max the Englishman, to speak of 

him, but I think I would not suspect men of that, even if 
they are poor. ” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it would be much easier, to most men, to 
love you than to love your money.” 

“ You think so ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I’m so glad. I felt so worried over it. Not about 
this case, for I don’t care for him, a bit. But I wondered 
if I had to suspect every man who came near me.” 

Peter’s eyes ceased to burn, and his second cup of tea, 
which a moment before was well-nigh choking him, sud- 
denly became nectar for the gods. 

Then at last Leonore made the remark towards which 
she had been working. At twenty-five Leonore would 
have been able to say it without so dangerous a preamble. 

“I don’t want to be bothered by men, and wish they 
would let me alone,” she said. “ I haven’t the slightest 
intention of marrying for at least five years, and shall say 
no to whomever asks me before then.” 

Five years ! Peter sipped his tea quietly, but with a 
hopeless feeling. He would like to claim that bit of 
womanhood as his own that moment, and she could talk 
of five years ! It was the clearest possible indication to 
Peter that Leonore was heart-whole. “No one, who is 
in love,” he thought, “could possibly talk of five years, 
or five months even.” When Peter got back to his cham- 
bers that afternoon, he was as near being despairing as he 
had been since — since — a long time ago. Even the ob- 
vious fact, that, if Leonore was not in love with him, she 
was also not in love with any one else, did not cheer him. 
There is a flag in the navy known as the Blue-Peter. 
That evening, Peter could have supplied our whole ma- 
rine, with considerable bunting to spare. 

But even worse was in store for him on the morrow. 
When he joined Leonore in the Park that day, she proved 
to him that woman has as much absolute brutality as 
the lowest of prize-fighters. Women get the reputation 
of being less brutal, because of their dread of blood-letting. 
Yet when it comes to torturing the opposite sex in itf 
feelings, they are brutes compared with their sufferers. 


THE BLUE-PETER. 


293 

“Do you know," said Leonore, “ that this is almost our 
last ride together ? ” 

“ Don’t jerk the reins needlessly, Peter,” said Mutineer, 
crossly. 

“ I hope not,” said Peter. 

“We have changed our plans. Instead of going to 
Newport next week, I have at last persuaded papa to 
travel a little, so that I can see something of my own 
country, and not be so shamefully ignorant. We are 
going to Washington on Saturday, and from there to Cali- 
fornia, and then through the Yellowstone, and back by 
Niagara. We shan’t be in Newport till the middle of 
August. ” 

Peter did not die at once. He caught at a life-preserver 
of a most delightful description. “ That will be a very 
enjoyable trip,” he said. “ I should like to go myself.” 

“ There is no one I would rather have than you,” said 
Leonore, laying her little hand softly on the wound she 
had herself just made, in a way which women have. 
Then she stabbed again. “ But we think it pleasanter to 
have it just a party of four.” 

“ How long shall you be in Washington? ” asked Peter, 
catching wildly at a straw this time. 

“ For a week. Why ? ” 

“ The President has been wanting to see me, and I 
thought I might run down next week.” 

“ Dear me,” thought Leonore. “ How very persistent 
he is ! ” 

“ Where will you put up? ” said Peter. 

“We haven’t decided. Where shall you stay?” she 
had the brutality to ask. 

“ The President wants me with him, but I may go to a 
hotel. It leaves one so much freer.” Peter was a lawyer, 
and saw no need of committing himself. “ If I am there 
when you are, I can perhaps help you enjoy yourself. I 
think I can get you a lunch at the White House, and, as I 
know most of the officials, I have an open sesame to some 
other nice things. ” Poor Peter ! He was trying to tempt 
Leonore to tolerate his company by offering attractions in 
connection therewith. A chromo with the pound of tea. 
And this from the man who had thought flowers and bon- 
bons bribery ! 

“ Why does the President want to see you? ” 


294 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ To talk politics.” 

“ About the governorship ? ” 

** Yes. Though we don't say so.” 

“ Is it true, Peter, that you can decide who it is to be; 
as the papers say ? ” 

“No. I would give twenty-five thousand dollars to* 
day if I could name the Democratic nominee.” 

“Why?” 

“ Would you mind my not telling you ? ” 

“Yes. I want to know. And you are to tell me,” said 
her majesty, calmly. 

“ I will tell you, though it is a secret, if you will tell 
me a secret of yours which I want to know.” 

“ No,” said Leonore. “ I don't think that's necessary. 
You are to tell me without making me promise anything.” 
Leonore might deprecate a man’s falling in love with her, 
but she had no objection to the power and perquisites it 
involved. 

“Then I shan’t tell you,” said Peter, making a tre- 
mendous rally. 

Leonore looked out from under her lashes to see just 
how much of Peter’s sudden firmness was real and how 
much pretence. Then she became unconscious of his 
presence. 

Peter said something. 

Silence. 

Peter said something else. 

Silence. 

“ Are you really so anxious to know ? ” he asked, sur- 
rendering without terms. 

He had a glorious look at those glorious eyes. “Yes,” 
said the dearest of all mouths. 

“ The great panic,” said Peter, “ has led to the forma- 
tion of a so-called Labor party, and, from present indica- 
tions, they are going to nominate a bad man. Now, 
there is a great attempt on foot to get the Democratic 
convention to endorse whomever the Labor party nom- 
inates ” 

“Who will that be?” 

“ A Stephen Maguire.” 

“ And you don’t want him? ” 

“ No. I have never crossed his path without finding 
him engaged in something discreditable. But he’s truckled 


A MUTINEER. 


2 95 

himself into a kind of popularity and power, and, having 
always been ‘a Democrat,’ he hopes to get the party to 
endorse him.” 

“ Can’t you order the convention not to do it ? ” 

Peter smiled down into the eyes. “We don’t order 
men in this country with any success.” 

“ But can’t you prevent them ? ” 

“ I hope so. But it looks now as if I should have to do 
it in a way very disagreeable to myself.” 

“ How?” 

“ This is a great secret, you understand? ” 

“ Yes,” said Leonore, all interest and eagerness. “ I 
can keep a secret splendidly.” 

“You are sure ? ” asked Peter. 

“ Sure.” 

“ So can I,” said Peter. 

Leonore perfectly bristled with indignation. “ I won’t 
be treated so,” she said. “ Are you going to tell me? ” 
She put on her severest manner. 

“ No,” said Peter. 

“ He is obstinate,” thought Leonore to herself. Then 
aloud she said : “ Then I shan’t be friends any more? ” 

“ That is very nice,” said Peter, soberly. 

“ What? ” said Leonore, looking at him in surprise. 

“I have come to the conclusion,” said Peter, “that 
there is no use in our trying to be friends. So we had 
better give up at once. Don’t you think so ? ” 

“ What a pretty horse Miss Winthrop has ? ” said Leo- 
nore. And she never obtained an answer to her question, 
nor answered Peter’s. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

A MUTINEER. 

After Peter’s return from Washington, there was a set- 
tled gloom about him positively appalling. He could not 
be wooed, on any plea, by his closest friends, to journey 
up-town into the social world. He failed entirely to 
avail himself of the room in the Rivington’s Newport villa. 


296 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

though Dorothy wrote appealingly, and cited his own 
words to him. Even to his partners he became almost 
silent, except on law matters. Jenifer found that no deli- 
cacy, however rare or however well cooked and served, 
seemed to be noticed any more than if it was mess-pork. 
The only moments that this atmosphere seemed to yield 
at all was when Peter took a very miscellaneous codec* 
tion of rubbish out of a little sachet, meant for handker- 
chiefs, which he now carried in his breast-pocket, and 
touched the various articles to his lips. Then for a time 
he would look a little less suicidal. 

But it was astonishing the amount of work he did, the 
amount of reading he got through, the amount of politics 
he bossed, and the cigars he smoked, between the first of 
June, and the middle of August. The party-leaders had 
come to the conclusion that Peter did not intend to take 
a hand in this campaign, but, after his return from Wash- 
ington, they decided otherwise. “ The President must 
have asked him to interfere,” was their whispered conclu- 
sion, “but it’s too late now. It’s all cut and dried.” 

Peter found, as this remark suggested, that his two 
months* devotion to the dearest of eyes and sweetest of lips, 
had had serious results. As with Mutineer once, he had 
dropped his bridle, but there was no use in uttering, as he 
had then, the trisyllable which had reduced the horse to 
order. He had a very different kind of a creature with 
which to deal, than a Kentucky gentleman of lengthy 
lineage. A creature called sometimes a “tiger.” Yet 
curiously enough, the same firm voice, and the same firm 
manner, and a “mutineer,” though this time a man in- 
stead of a horse, was effective here. All New York knew 
that something had been done, and wanted to know what. 
There was not a newspaper in the city that would have 
refused to give five thousand dollars for an authentic 
stenographic report of what actually was said in a space 
of time not longer than three hours in all. Indeed, so 
intensely were people interested, that several papers felt 
called upon to fabricate and print most absurd versions 
of what did occur, all the accounts reaching conclusions 
as absolutely different as the press portraits of celebrities. 
From three of them it is a temptation to quote the display 
headlines or “scare-heads,” which ushered these reports 
to the world. The first read : 


A MUTINEER. 


29; 

“THE BOSSES AT WAR!” 


“ HOT WORDS AND LOOKS. ” 


“BUT THEY’LL CRAWL LATER.” 


“ There’s beauty in the bellow of the blast, 

There’s grandeur in the growling of the rale ; 

But there’s eloquence-appalling, when Stirling is aroaring, 

And the Tiger’s getting modest with his tail.” 

That was a Republican account. The second was ; 

“ MAGUIRE ON TOP!” 


“ The Old Man is Friendly. A Peace-making 
Dinner at the Manhattan Club. Friends in 
Council. Labor and Democracy Shoulder 
to Shoulder. A United Front to the Enemy.” 


The third, printed in an insignificant little penny paper, 
never read and almost unknown by reading people, yet 
which had more city advertising than all the other papers 
put together, and a circulation to match the largest, an- 
nounced : 

“TACITURNITY JUNIOR’S” 


“ONCE MORE AT THE BAT!” 


“NO MORE NONSENSE.” 


“HE PUTS MAGUIRE OUT ON THIRD BASE.* 


“NOW PLAY BALL!” 


295 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

And unintelligible as this latter sounds, it was near enough 
the truth to suggest inspiration. But there is no need to 
reprint the article that followed, for now it is possible, for 
the first time, to tell what actually occurred ; and this 
contribution should alone permit this work to rank, as no 
doubt it is otherwise fully qualified to, in the dullest class 
of all books, that of the historical novel. 

The facts are, that Peter alighted from a hansom one 
evening, in the middle of July, and went into the Man- 
hattan Club. He exchanged greetings with a number of 
men in the halls, and with more who came in while he 
was reading the evening papers. A man came up to him 
while he still read, and said : 

“ Well, Stirling. Reading about your own iniquity ? 99 

“ No,” said Peter, rising and shaking hands. “ I gave 
up reading about that ten years ago. Life is too short.” 

“Pelton and Webber were checking their respectability 
in the coat-room, as I came up. I suppose they are in 
the cafd” 

Peter said nothing, but turned, and the two entered that 
room. Peter shook hands with three men who were 
there, and they all drew up round one of the little tables. 
A good many men who saw that group, nudged each 
other, and whispered remarks. 

“ A reporter from th.e Sun is in the strangers’ room, Mr. 
Stirling, and asks to see you,” said a servant. 

“I cannot see him,” said Peter, quietly. “But say to 
him that I may possibly have something to tell him, about 
eleven o’clock.” 

The four men at the table exchanged glances. 

“ I can’t imagine a newspaper getting an interview out 
of you, Stirling,” laughed one of them, a little nervously. 

Peter smiled. “Very few of us are absolutely consist- 
ent. I can’t imagine any of you, for instance, making a 
political mistake, but perhaps you may some day.” 

A pause of a curious kind came after this, which was 
only interrupted by the arrival of three more men. They 
all shook hands, and Peter rang a bell. 

“ What shall it be ? ” he asked. 

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then one said 
“ Order for us. You’re host. Just what you like.” 

Peter smiled. “Thomas,” he said, “ bring us eight 
Apollinaris cocktails. ” 


A MUTINEER. 


299 

The men all laughed, and Thomas said, “Beg pardon, 
Mr. Stirling ? ” in a bewildered way. Thomas had served 
the club many years, but he had never heard of that cock- 
tail. 

“Well, Thomas/’ said Peter, “ if you don’t have that 
in stock, make it seven Blackthorns. ” 

Then presently eight men packed themselves into the 
elevator, and a moment later were sitting in one of the 
private dining-rooms. For an hour and a half they 
chatted over the meal, very much as if it were nothing 
more than a social dinner. But the moment the servant 
had passed the cigars and light, and had withdrawn, the 
chat suddenly ceased, and a silence came for a moment. 
Then a man said : 

“ It’s a pity it can’t please all, but the majority’s got to 
rule. ” 

“Yes,” promptly said another, “this is really a Maguire 
ratification meeting.” 

“There’s nothing else to do,” affirmed a third. 

But a fourth said : “Then what are we here for ? ” 

No one seemed to find an answer. After a moment’s 
silence, the original speaker said : 

“ It’s the only way we can be sure of winning.” 

“ He gives us every pledge,” echoed the second. 

“ And we’ve agreed, anyways, so we are bound,” con* 
tinued the first speaker. 

Peter took his cigar out of his mouth. “Who are 
bound ? ” he asked, quietly. 

“ Why, the organization is — the party,” said Numbei 
Two, with a “ deny-it-if-you-dare ” in his voice. 

“ I don’t see how we can back out now, Stirling,” said 
Number One. 

“Who wants to?” said another. “The Labor party 
promises to support us on our local nominations, and 
Maguire is not merely a Democrat, but he gives us every 
pledge.” 

“ There’s no good of talking of anything else anyhow,” 
said Number One, “ for there will be a clean majority for 
Maguire in the convention.” 

“ And no other candidate can poll fifty votes on the 
first ballot,” said Number Two. 

Then they all looked at Peter, and became silent. Petei 
puffed his cigar thoughtfully. 


300 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING , . 

“ What do you say ? n said Number One. 

Peter merely shook his head. 

“ But I tell you it’s done,” cried one of the men, a little 
excitedly. “It’s too late to backslide! We want to 
please you, Stirling, but we can’t this time. We must do 
what’s right for the party. ” 

“ I’m not letting my own feeling decide it,” said Peter. 
“ I’m thinking of the party. For every vote the Labor 
people give Maguire, the support of that party will lose us 
a Democratic vote. ” 

“But we can’t win with a triangular fight. The Repub- 
licans will simply walk over the course. ” 

If Peter had been a hot-headed reformer, he would have 
said : “Better that than that such a scoundrel shall win.” 
But Peter was a politician, and so saw no need of saying 
the unpleasantest thing that occurred to him, even if he 
felt it. Instead, he said: “The Labor party will get as 
many votes from the Republicans as from us, and, for 
every vote the Labor party takes from us, we shall get a 
Republican vote, if we put up the right kind of a man. ” 

“ Nonsense,” cried Number One. 

“ How do you figure that ? ” asked another. 

“In these panic times, the nomination of such a man as 
Maguire, with his truckling to the lowest passions and his 
socialistic speeches, will frighten conservative men enough 
to make them break party lines, and unite on the most 
certain candidate. That will be ours.” 

“ But why risk it, when, with Maguire, it’s certain? ” 

Peter wanted to say : “ Maguire shall not be endorsed, 
and that ends it.” Instead, he said : “We can win with 
our own man, and don’t need to trade with or endorse the 
Labor party. We can elect Maguire by the aid of the 
worst votes in this city, or we can elect our own man by 
the aid of the best. The one weakens our party in the 
future ; the other strengthens it. ” 

“ You think that possible? ” asked the man who had 
sought information as to what they “were here for.” 

“Yes. The Labor party makes a stir, but it wouldn’t 
give us the oyster and be content with the shells if it 
really felt strong. See what it offers us. All the local 
and State ticket except six assemblymen, two senators, 
and a governor, tied hand and foot to us, whose proudest 
claim for years has been that he’s a Democrat. ” 


A MUTINEER. 


3 °* 

“But all this leaves out of sight the fact that the thing’s 
done,” said Number One. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“Yes. It’s too late. The polls are closed,” said 
another. 

Peter stopped puffing. “The convention hasn’t met,* 
he remarked, quietly. 

That remark, however, seemed to have a sting in it, for 
Number Two cried : 

“ Come. We’ve decided. Now, put up or shut up. 
No more beating about the bush.” 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“Tell us what you intend, Stirling,” said Number One. 
“We are committed beyond retreat. Come in with us, or 
stay outside the breastworks.” 

“ Perhaps,” said Peter, “since you’ve taken your own 
position, without consulting me, you will allow me the 
same privilege.” 

“ Go to — where you please,” said Number Six, crossly. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“ Well, what do you intend to do?” asked Number 
One. 

Peter knocked the ash off his cigar. “ You consider 
yourselves pledged to support Maguire ? ” 

“Yes. We are pledged,” said four voices in unison. 

“ So am I,” said Peter. 

“ How?” 

“ To oppose him,” said Peter. 

“ But I tell you the majority of the convention is for 
him,” said Number One. “Don’t you believe me? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then what good will your opposition do? ” 

“ It will defeat Maguire.” 

“ No power on earth can do that.” 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“ You can’t beat him in the convention, Stirling. The 
delegates pledged to him, and those we can give him elect 
him on the first ballot. ” 

“ How about November fourth?” asked Peter. 

Number One sprang to his feet. “You don’t mean? * 
he cried. 

“ Never ! ” said Number Three. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 


302 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ Come, Stirling-, say what you intend ! ” 

“ I intend,” said Peter, “if the Democratic convention 
endorses Stephen Maguire, to speak against him in every 
ward of this city, and ask every man in it, whom I can 
influence, to vote for the Republican candidate.” 

Dead silence reigned. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“You’ll go back on the party?” finally said one. ia 
Awe-struck tones. 

“ You’ll be a traitor? ” cried another. 

“ I’d have believed anything but that you would be 8 
dashed Mugwump 1 ” groaned the third. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“Say you are fooling? ” begged Number Seven. 

“No,” said Peter. “Nor am I more a traitor to my 
party than you. You insist on supporting the Labor can- 
didate and I shall support the Republican candidate. We 
are both breaking our party.” 

“We’ll win,” said Number One. 

Peter puffed his cigar. 

“I’m not so sure,” said the gentleman of the previous 
questions. “ How many votes can you hurt us, Stirling? ” 

“ I don’t know.” Peter looked very contented. 

“You can’t expect to beat us single? ” 

Peter smiled quietly. “ I haven’t had time to see many 
men. But — I’m not single. Bohlmann says the brewers 
will back me, Hummel says he’ll be guided by me, and the 
President won’t interfere.” 

“You might as well give up,” continued the previous 
questioner. “The Sixth is a sure thirty-five hundred to 
the bad, and between Stirling’s friends, and the Hummel 
crowd, and Bohlmann’s people, you’ll lose twenty-five 
thousand in the rest of the city, besides the Democrats 
you’ll frighten off by the Labor party. You can’t put it 
less than thirty-five thousand, to say nothing of the hole 
in the campaign fund.” 

The beauty about » practical politician is that votes 
count for more than his own wishes. Number One said : 

“Well, that’s ended. You’ve smashed our slate. 
What have you got in its place ? ” 

“ Porter? ” suggested Peter. 

“ No,” said three voices. 

M We can’t stand any more of him,” said Number One 


A MUTINEER. 


3°3 


“ He’s an honest, square man,” said Peter. 

“ Can’t help that. One dose of a man who’s got a* 
little gumption as he, is all we can stand. He may have 
education, but I’ll be hanged if he has intellect. Why 
don’t you ask us to choose a college professor, and have 
done with it. ” 

“Come, Stirling,” said the previous questioner, “the 
thing’s been messed so that we’ve got to go into conven- 
tion with just the right man to rally the delegates. 
There’s only one man we can do it with, and you know 
it.” 

Peter rose, and dropped his cigar-stump into the ash- 
receiver. “ I don’t see anything else,” he said, gloomily. 
“ Do any of you ? ” 

A moment’s silence, and then Number One said : 
“ No.” 

“ Well,” said Peter, “ I’ll take the nomination if neces- 
sary, but keep it back for a time, till we see if something 
better can’t be hit upon.” 

“ No danger,” said Number One, holding out his hand, 
gleefully. 

“There’s more ways of killing a pig than choking it 
with butter,” said Number Three, laughing and doing the 
same. 

“It’s a pity Costell isn’t here,” added the previous 
questioner. “ After you’re not yielding to him, he’d never 
believe we had forced you to take it. ” 

And that was what actually took place at that very-much- 
talked-about dinner. 

Peter went downstairs with a very serious look on his 
face. At the door, the keeper of it said : “There are six 
reporters in the strangers’ room, Mr. Stirling, who wish to 
see you.” 

A man who had just come in said : “ I’m sorry for you, 
Peter. ” 

Peter smiled quietly. “Tell them our wishes are not 
mutual.” Then he turned to the newcomer. “ It’s all 
right,” he said, “ so far as the party is concerned, Hummel. 
But I’m to foot the bill to do it.” 

“The devil ! You don’t mean ? ” 

Peter nodded his head. 

“ I’ll give twenty-five thousand to the fund,” said Hum 
mel, gleefully. “ See if I don’t” 


304 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Stirling,” said a man who had just 
come in. 

“ Certainly,” said Peter promptly. “ But I must ask the 
same favor of you, as I am going down town at once.” 
Peter had the brutality to pass out of the front door in- 
stantly, leaving the reporter with a disappointed look on 
his face. 

“If he only would have said something? ” groaned the 
reporter to himself. “ Anything that could be spun into 
a column. He needn’t have told me what he didn’t care to 
tell, yet he could have helped me to pay my month’s rent 
as easily as could be.” 

As for Peter, he fell into a long stride, and his face nearly 
equalled his stride in length. After he reached his quarters 
he sat and smoked, with the same serious look. He did 
not look cross. He did not have the gloom in his face 
which had been so fixed an expression for the last month. 
But he looked as a man might look who knew he had but 
a few hours to live, yet to whom death had no terror. 

“ I am giving up,” Peter thought, “ everything that has 
been my true life till now. My profession, my friends, 
my chance to help others, my books, and my quiet. I 
shall be misunderstood, reviled and hated. Everything I 
do will be distorted for partisan purposes. Friends will 
misjudge. Enemies will become the more bitter. I give 
up fifty thousand dollars a year in order to become a slave, 
with toadies, trappers, lobbyists and favor-seekers as my 
daily quota of humanity. I even sacrifice the larger part 
of my power.” 

So ran Peter’s thoughts, and they were the thoughts of 
a man who had not worked seventeen years in politics for 
nothing. He saw alienation of friends, income, peace, 
and independence, and the only return a mere title, which 
to him meant a loss, rather than a gain of power. Yet 
this was one of the dozen prizes thought the best worth 
striving for in our politics. Is it a wonder that our 
government and office-holding is left to the foreign ele- 
ment? That the native American should prefer any other 
work, rather than run the gauntlet of public opinion and 
press, with loss of income and peace, that he may hold 
some difficult office for a brief term ? 

But finally Peter rose. “ Perhaps she’ll like it,” he said 
aloud, and presumably, since no woman is allowed a 


CLOUDS. 


3°S 

voice in American politics, he was thinking of Miss Colum- 
bia. Then he looked at some photographs, a scrap of 
ribbon, a gold coin (Peter clearly was becoming a money 
worshipper), three letters, a card, a small piece of blotting- 
paper, a handkerchief (which Leonore and Peter had spent 
nearly ten minutes in trying to find one day), a glove, and 
some dried rose-leaves and violets. Yet this was the man 
who had grappled an angry tiger but two hours before 
and had brought it to lick his hand. 

He went to bed very happy. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

CLOUDS. 

But a month later he was far happier, for one morning 
towards the end of August, his mail brought him a letter 
from Watts, announcing that they had been four days 
installed in their Newport home, and that Peter would 
now be welcome any time. “ I have purposely not filled 
Grey-Court this summer, so that you should have every 
chance. Between you and me and the post, I think there 
have been moments when mademoiselle missed ‘ her 
friend ’ far more than she confessed. ” 

“Dat’s stronory, ” thought Jenifer. “He dun eat mo’ 
dis yar hot mo’nin’ dan he dun in two mumfs.” 

Then Jenifer was sent out with a telegram, which 
merely said : “ May I come to-day by Shore line limited? 
P. S.” 

“When you get back, Jenifer,” said Peter, “you may 
'^pack my trunk and your own. We ma; start for Newport 
’at two.” Evidently Peter did not intend to run any risks 
of missing the train, in case the answer should be favor- 
able. 

Peter passed into his office, and set to work to put the 
loose ends in such shape that nothing should go wrong 
during his absence. He had not worked long, when one 
of the boys told him that : 

“Mr. Cassius Curlew wants to see you, Mr. Stirling.” 

Peter stopped his writing, looking up quickly : “Did 
he say on what business ? ” 

30 


306 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“No.” 

“ Ask him, please. ” And Peter went on writing till the 
boy returned. 

“ He says it’s about the convention.” 

“Tell him he must be more specific.” 

The boy returned in a moment with a folded scrap of 
paper. 

“He said that would tell you, Mr. Stirling.” 

Peter unfolded the scrap, and read upon it : “A message 
from Maguire.” 

“Show him in.” Peter touched a little knob on his 
desk on which was stamped “ Chief Clerk. ” A moment 
later a man opened a door. “Samuels,” said Peter, “I 
wish you would stay here for a moment. I want you to 
listen to what’s said.” 

The next moment a man crossed the threshold of an- 
other door. “ Good-morning, Mr. Stirling,” he said. 

“Mr. Curlew,” said Peter, without rising and with a 
cold inclination of his head. 

“ I have a message for you, Mr. Stirling,” said the man, 
pulling a chair into a position that suited him, and sitting, 
“ but it’s private.” 

Peter said nothing, but began to write. 

“Do you understand? I want a word with you pri- 
vate,” said the man after a pause. 

“ Mr. Samuels is my confidential clerk. You can speak 
with perfect freedom before him.” Peter spoke without 
raising his eyes from his writing. 

“But I don’t want any one round. It’s just between 
you and me. ” 

“When I got your message,” said Peter, still writing, 
“I sent for Mr. Samuels. If you have anything to say, 
say it now. Otherwise leave it unsaid.” 

“Well, then,” said the man, “your party’s been tricking 
us, and we won’t stand it.” 

Peter wrote diligently. 

“ And we know who’s back of it. It was all pie down 
to that dinner of yours.” 

“Is that Maguire’s message?” asked Peter, though 
with no cessation of his labors. 

“Nop,” said the man. “ That’s the introduction. Now, 
we know what it means. You needn’t deny it. You’re 
squinting at the governorship yourself. And you’ve made 


CLOUDS , 


307 

the rest go back on Maguire, and work for you on the 
quiet. Oh, we know what’s going on.” 

“Tell me when you begin on the message,” said Peter, 
still writing. 

“Maguire’s sent me to you, to tell you to back water. 
To stop bucking.” 

“Tell Mr. Maguire I have received his message.” 

“ Oh, that isn’t all, and don’t you forget it ! Maguire’s 
in this for fur and feathers, and if you go before the con- 
vention as a candidate, we’ll fill the air with them.” 

“ Is that part of the message? ” asked Peter. 

“By that we mean that half an hour after you accept 
the nomination, we’ll have a force of detectives at work 
on your past life, and we’ll hunt down and expose every 
discreditable thing you’ve ever done.” 

Peter rose, and the man did the same instantly, putting 
one of his hands on his hip-pocket. But even before he 
did it, Peter had begun speaking, in a quiet, self-contained 
voice: “That sounds so like Mr. Maguire, that I think 
we have the message at last. Go to him, and say that I 
have received his message. That I know him, and I 
know his methods. That I understand his hopes of 
driving me, as he has some, from his path, by threats of 
private scandal. That, judging others by himself, he 
believes no man’s life can bear probing. Tell him that 
he has misjudged for once. Tell him that he has himself 
decided me in my determination to accept the nomination. 
That rather than see him the nominee of the Democratic 
party, I will take it myself. Tell him to set on his blood- 
hounds. They are welcome to all they can unearth in my 
life.” 

Peter turned towards his door, intending to leave the 
room, for he was not quite sure that he could sustain this 
altitude, if he saw more of the man. But as his hand was 
on the knob, Curlew spoke again. 

“One moment,” he called. “We’ve got something 
more to say to you. We have proof already.” 

Peter turned, with an amused look on his face. “ I 
was wondering,” he said, “if Maguire really expected to 
drive me with such vague threats. ” 

“No siree,” said Curlew with a self-assured manner, but 
at the same time putting Peter’s desk between the clerk 
and himself, so that his flank could not be turned. “ We’ve 


308 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

got some evidence that won’t be sweet reading for you^ 
and we’re going to print it, if you take the nomination. ” 

‘‘Tell Mr. Maguire he had better put his evidence in 
print at once. That I shall take the nomination.” 

“And disgrace one of your best friends ? ” asked Curlew. 

Peter started slightly, and looked sharply at the man. 

“ Ho, ho,” said Curlew. “That bites, eh ? Well, it will 
bite worse before it’s through with. ” 

Peter stood silent for a moment, but his hands trembled 
slightly, and any one who understood anatomy could have 
recognized that every muscle in his body was at full ten- 
sion. But all he said was : “ Well? ” 

“It’s about that trip of yours on the ‘Majestic.’” 

Peter looked bewildered. 

“We've got sworn affidavits of two stewards,” Curlew 
continued, “about yours and some one else’s goings on. 
I guess Mr. and Mrs. Rivington won’t thank you for 
having them printed. ” 

Instantly came a cry of fright, and the crack of a revolver, 
which brought Peter’s partners and the clerks crowding 
into the room. It was to find Curlew lying back on the 
desk, held there by Peter with one hand, while his other, 
clasping the heavy glass inkstand, was swung aloft. 
There was a look on Peter’s face that did not become it. 
An insurance company would not have considered 
Curlew’s life at that moment a fair risk. 

But when Peter’s arm descended it did so gently, 
put the inkstand back on the desk, and taking a pocket- 
handkerchief wiped a splash of ink from the hand that 
had a moment before been throttling Curlew. That 
worthy struggled up from his back-breaking attitude and 
the few parts of his face not drenched with ink, were 
very white, while his hands trembled more than had Peter’s 
a moment before. 

“ Peter ! ” cried Ogden. “What is it ? ” 

“I lost my temper for a moment,” said Peter. 

“ But who fired that shot ? ” 

Peter turned to the clerks. “Leave the room,” he 
said, “all of you. And keep this to yourselves. I 
don’t think the other floors could have heard anything 
through the fire-proof brick, but if any one comes, refer 
them to me.” As the office cleared, Peter turned to his 
partners and said : “ Mr. Curlew came here with a 


CLOUDS. 


309 

message which he thought needed the protection of a 
revolver. He judged rightly, it seems. ,, 

“ Are you hit? ” 

“I felt something strike.” Peter put his hand to hif 
side. He unbuttoned his coat and felt again. Then he 
pulled out a little sachet from his breast-pocket, and as 
he did so, a flattened bullet dropped to the floor. Peter 
looked into the sachet anxiously. The bullet had only 
gone through the lower corner of the four photographs 
and the glove ! Peter laughed happily. “I had a gold 
coin in my pocket, and the bullet struck that. Who says 
that a luck-piece is nothing but a superstition ? ” 

“ But, Peter, shan’t we call the police ? ” demanded 
Ogden, still looking stunned. 

Curlew moved towards the door. 

“One moment,” said Peter, and Curlew stopped. 

“Ray,” Peter continued, “I am faced with a terrible 
question. I want your advice ? ” 

“What, Peter?” 

“A man is trying to force me to stand aside and permit 
a political wrong. To do this, he threatens to publish 
lying affidavits of worthless scoundrels, to prove a 
shameful intimacy between a married woman and me.” 

“Bosh,” laughed Ray. “He can publish a thousand 
and no one would believe them of you.” 

“He knows that. But he knows, too, that no matter 
how untrue, it would connect her name with a subject 
shameful to the purest woman that ever lived. He knows 
that the scavengers of gossip will repeat it, and gloat 
over it. That the filthy society papers will harp on it for 
years. That in the heat of a political contest, the par- 
tisans will be only too glad to believe it and repeat it. 
That no criminal prosecution, no court vindication, will 
ever quite kill the story as regards her. And so he hopes 
that, rather than entail this on a woman whom I love, and 
on her husband and family, I will refuse a nomination. 
I know of such a case in Massachusetts, where, rather than 
expose a woman to such a danger, the man withdrew. 
What should I do ? ” 

“Do? Fight him. Tell him to do his worst.” 

Peter put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. 

“ Even if — if — it is one dear to us both ? ” 

“Peter l” 


3io THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

“Yes. Do you remember your being called home in 
our Spanish trip, unexpectedly? You left me to bring 
Miss De Voe, and — Well. They’ve bribed, or forged 
affidavits of two of the stewards of the ‘Majestic. ’ ” 

Ray tried to spring forward towards Curlew. But Peter’s 
hand still rested on his shoulder, and held him back. “I 
started to kill him,” Peter said quietly, “but I remem- 
bered he was nothing but the miserable go-between.” 

“ My God, Peter ! What can I say ? ” 

“Ray ! The stepping aside is nothing to me. It was 
an office which I was ready to take, but only as a sacri- 
fice and a duty. It is to prevent wrong that I interfered. 
So do not think it means a loss to me to retire. ” 

“Peter, do what you intended to do. We must not 
compromise with wrong even for her sake.” 

The two shook hands. “I do not think they will ever 
use it, Ray,” said Peter. “But I may be mistaken, and 
cannot involve you in the possibility, without your con- 
sent.” 

“Of course they’ll use it,” cried Ogden. “Scoundrels 
who could think of such a thing, will use it without hesi- 
tation.” 

“No,” said Peter. “A man who uses a coward’s 
weapons, is a coward at heart. We can prevent it, I 
think.” Then he turned to Curlew. “Tell Mr. Maguire 
about this interview. Tell him that I spared you, because 
you are not the principal. But tell him from me, that if a 
word is breathed against Mrs. Rivington, I swear that I’ll 
search for him till I find him, and when I find him I’ll kill 
him with as little compunction as I would a rattlesnake.” 
Peter turned and going to his dressing-room, washed 
away the ink from his hands. 

Curlew shuffled out of the room, and, black as he was, 
went straight to the Labor headquarters and told his story. 

“And he’ll do it too, Mr. Maguire,” he said. “You 
should have seen his look as he said it, and as he stood 
over me. I feel it yet. ” 

“Do you think he means it?” said Ray to Ogden, 
when they were back in Ray’s room. 

“I wouldn’t think so if I hadn’t seen his face as he 
stood over that skunk. But if ever a man looked murder 
he did at that moment. And quiet old Peter of all men ! ” 

“ We must talk to him. Do tell him that ” 


SUNSHINE. 


3 11 


" Do you dare do it ? ” 

“ But you ? ” 

“I don’t. Unless he speaks I shall ” 

“Ray and Ogden,” said a quiet voice, “ I wish you 
would write out what you have just seen and heard. It 
may be needed in the future. ” 

“ Peter, let me speak,” cried Ray. “You mustn’t do 
what you said. Think of such an end to your life. No 
matter what that scoundrel does, don’t end your life on 
a gallows. It ” 

Peter held up his hand. “You don’t know the American 
people, Ray. If Maguire uses that lying story, I can kill 
him, and there isn’t a jury in the country which, when 
the truth was told, wouldn’t acquit me. Maguire knows 
it, too. We have heard the last of that threat, I’m sure.” 

Peter went back to his office. “I don’t wonder,” he 
thought, as he stood looking at the ink-stains on his desk 
and floor, “ that people think politics nothing but trickery 
and scoundrelism. Yet such vile weapons and slanders 
would not be used if there were not people vile and mean 
enough at heart to let such things influence them. The 
fault is not in politics. It is in humanity.” 


CHAPTER L. 

SUNSHINE, 

But just as Peter was about to continue this rather un- 
satisfactory train of thought, his eye caught sight of a 
flattened bullet lying on the floor. He picked it up, with 
a smile. “I knew she was my good luck,” he said. 
Then he took out the sachet again, and kissed the dented 
and bent coin. Then he examined the photographs. 
“ Not even the dress is cut through,” he said gleefully, 
looking at the full length. “ It couldn’t have hit in a bet- 
ter place.” When he came to the glove, however, he 
grieved a little over it. Even this ceased to trouble him 
the next moment, for a telegram was laid on his desk. It 
merely said, “ Come by all means. W. C. D’A.” Yet that 
was enough to make Peter drop thoughts, work, and 
everything for a time. He sat at his desk, gazing at a 


312 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

blank wall, and thinking of a pair of slate-colored eyes. 
But his expression bore no resemblance to the one for- 
merly assumed when that particular practice had been 
habitual. 

Nor was this expression the only difference in this day, 
to mark the change from Peter past to Peter present. 
For instead of manoeuvring to make Watts sit on the back 
seat, when he was met by the trap late that afternoon, at 
Newport, he took possession of that seat in the coolest 
possible manner, leaving the one by the driver to Watts. 
Nor did Peter look away from the girl on that back seat. 
Quite the contrary. It did not seem to him that a thou- 
sand eyes would have been any too much. Peter’s three 
months of gloom vanished, and became merely a contrast 
to heighten his present joy. A sort of “ shadow-box.” 

He had had the nicest kind of welcome from his 
“ friend.” If the manner had not been quite so absolute- 
ly frank as of yore, yet there was no doubt as to her 
pleasure in seeing Peter. “It’s very nice to see you 
again,” she had said while shaking hands. “ I hoped you 
would come quickly.” Peter was too happy to say any- 
thing in reply. He merely took possession of that vacant 
seat, and rested his eyes in silence till Watts, after climb- 
ing into place, asked him how the journey to Newport 
had been. 

“Lovelier than ever,” said Peter, abstractedly. “I 
didn’t think it was possible. ” 

“Eh ? ” said Watts, turning with surprise on his face. 

But Leonore did not look surprised. She only looked 
ths other way, and the corners of her mouth were curving 
upwards. 

“ The journey ? ” queried Watts. 

“You mean Newport, don’t you? ” said Leonore help- 
fully, when Peter said nothing. Leonore was looking 
out from under her lashes — at things in general, of course. 

Peter said nothing. Peter was not going to lie about 
what he had meant, and Leonore liked him all the better 
for not using the deceiving loophole she had opened. 

Watts said, “Oh, of course. It improves every year. 
But wasn’t the journey hot, old man ? ” 

“I didn’t notice,” said Peter. 

“ Didn’t notice ! And this one of the hottest days of 
the .year.” 


SUNSHINE. 


3*3 

s * I had something else to think about,” explained Peter. 

“ Politics ? ” asked Watts. 

‘‘Oh, Peter,” said Leonore, “we’ve been so interested 
in all the talk. It was just as maddening as could be, 
how hard it was to get New York papers way out west. 
I’m awfully in the dark about some things. I’ve asked a 
lot of people here about it, but nobody seems to know 
anything. Or if they do, they laugh at me. I met Con- 
gressman Pell yesterday at the Tennis Tournament, and 
thought he would tell me all about it. But he was horrid 1 
His whole manner said : *1 can’t waste real talk on a girl.* 
I told him I was a great friend of yours, and that you 
would tell me when you came, but he only laughed and 
said, he had no doubt you would, for you were famous 
for your indiscretion. I hate men who laugh at women 
the moment they try to talk as men do.” 

“I think,” said Peter, “we’ll have to turn Pell down. 
A Congressman who laughs at one of my friends won’t do.” 

“I really wish you would. That would teach him,” 
said Leonore, vindictively. “A man who laughs at 
women can’t be a good Congressman.” 

“ I tell you what we’ll do,” said Peter. “I don’t want 
to retire him, because — because I like his mother. But I 
will tell you something for you to tell him, that will as- 
tonish him very much, and make him want to know who 
told you, and so you can tease him endlessly.” 

“Oh, Peter I ” said Leonore. “You are the nicest man.” 

“What’s that? ” asked Watts. 

“It’s a great secret,” said Peter. “I shall only tell it 
to Miss D’Alloi, so that if it leaks beyond Pell, I shall 
know whom to blame for it. ” 

“ Goody ! ” cried Leonore, giving a little bounce for joy. 

“ Is it about that famous dinner? ” inquired Watts. 

“No.” 

“ Peter, I’m so curious about that. Will you tell me 
what you did ? ” 

“I ate a dinner,” said Peter smiling. 

“ Now don’t be like Mr. Pell,” said Leonore, reproving- 
ly, “ or I’ll take back what I just said.” 

“ Did you roar, and did the tiger put its tail between its 
legs ? ” asked Watts. 

“That is the last thing our friends, the enemies, have 
found,” said feter. 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


JH 

“You will tell me about it, won’t you, Peter?” said 
Leonore, ingratiatingly. 

“Have you a mount for me, Watts, for to-morrow? 
Mutineer comes by boat to-night, but won’t be here till 
noon. ” 

“Yes. I’ve one chap up to your weight, I think.” 

“ I don’t like dodgers,” said Leonore, the corners of her 
mouth drawn down. 

“I was not dodging,” said Peter. “ I only was asking 
a preliminary question. If you will get up, before break- 
fast, and ride with me, I will tell you everything that 
actually occurred at that dinner. You will be the only 
person, I think, who wasn’t there, who knows.” It was 
shameful and open bribery, but bosses are shameful and 
open in their doings, so Peter was only living up to his role. 

The temptation was too strong to be resisted. Leonore 
said, “Of course I will,” and the corners of her mouth 
reversed their position. But she said to herself : “ I shall 
have to snub you in something else to make up for it. ” 
Peter was in for a bad quarter of an hour somewhere. 

Leonore had decided just how she was going to treat 
Peter. To begin with, she intended to accentuate that 
“five years ” in various ways. Then she would be very 
frank and friendly, just as long as he, too, would keep 
within those limits, but if Peter even verged on anything 
more, she intended to leave him to himself, just long 
enough to show him that such remarks as his “ not caring 
to be friends,” brought instant and dire punishment 
“ And I shan’t let him speak,” Leonore decided, “ no mat- 
ter if he wants to. For if he does, I’ll have to say ‘ no,* 
and then he’ll go back to New York and sulk, and perhaps 
never come near me again, since he’s so obstinate, while 
I want to stay friends. ” Many such campaigns have been 
planned by the party of the first part. But the trouble is 
that, usually, the party of the second part also has a plan, 
which entirely disconcerts the first. As the darkey re- 
marked : “Yissah. My dog he wud a beat, if it hadn’t 
bin foh de udder dog. ” 

Peter found as much contrast in his evening, as com- 
pared with his morning, as there was in his own years. 
After dinner, Leonore said : 

“ I always play billiards with papa. Will you play too? H 

4t l don’t know how,” said Peter. 


SUNSHINE. 


3L$ 

“ Then it’s time you learned. I’ll take you on my side, 
because papa always beats me. I’ll teach you.” 

So there was the jolliest of hours spent in this way, all 
of them laughing at Peter’s shots, and at Leonore’s at- 
tempts to show him how. “Every woman ought to play 
billiards,” Peter thought, when it was ended. “It’s the 
most graceful sight I’ve seen in years.” 

Leonore said, “You get the ideas very nicely, but you 
hit much too hard. You can’t hit a ball too softly. You 
pound it as if you were trying to smash it. ” 

“ It’s something I really must learn,” said Peter, who 
Uad refused over and over again in the past. 

“ I’ll teach you, while you are here,” said Leonore. 

Peter did not refuse this time. 

Nor did he refuse another lesson. When they had 
drifted into the drawing-room, Leonore asked: “Have 
you been learning how to valse ? ” 

Peter smiled at so good an American using so European 
a word, but said seriously, “No. I’ve been too busy.” 

“That’s a shame,” said Leonore, “because there are 
to be two dances this week, and mamma has written to 
get you cards. ” 

“Is it very hard ? ” asked Peter. 

“No,” said Leonore. “It’s as easy as breathing, and 
much nicer.” 

“Couldn’t you teach me that, also?” 

“ Easily. Mamma, will you play a valse ? Now see. ” 
Leonore drew her skirts back with one hand, so as to show 
the little feet, and said : “one, two, three, so. One, two, 
three, so. Now do that. ” 

Peter had hoped that the way to learn dancing was to 
take the girl in one’s arms. But he recognized that this 
would follow. So he set to work manfully to imitate that 
dainty little glide. It seemed easy as she did it. But it 
was not so easy when he tried it. 

“Oh, you clumsy,” said Leonore laughing. “See. 
One, two, three, so. One, two, three, so.” 

Peter forgot to notice the step, in his admiration of the 
little feet and the pretty figure. 

“Well,” said Leonore after a pause, “are you going to 
do that ? ” 

So Peter tried again, and again, and again. Peter 
would have done it all night, with absolute contentment, 


316 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

so long as Leonore, after every failure, would show hirt 
the right way in her own person. 

Finally she said, “Now take my hands. No. Way 
apart, so that I can see your feet. Now. We’ll try it to- 
gether. One, two, change. One, two, change. ” 

Peter thought this much better, and was ready to go on 
till strength failed. But after a time, Leonore said, 
“Now. We’ll try it the true way. Take my hand so 
and put your arm so. That’s the way. Only never hold 
a girl too close. We hate it. Yes. That’s it. Now, 
mamma. Again. One, two, three. One, two, three. ” 
This was heavenly, Peter thought, and could have wept 
over the shortness, as it seemed to him, of this part of the 
lesson. 

But it ended, and Leonore said : “If you’ll practice 
that in your room, with a bolster, you’ll get on very fast. ” 
“ I always make haste slowly,” said Peter, not taking 
to the bolster idea at all kindly. “Probably you can find 
time to-morrow for another lesson, and I’ll learn much 
quicker with you. ” 

“ I’ll see.” 

“ And will you give me some waltzes at the dances ? 99 
“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Leonore. “You shall 
have the dances the other men don’t ask of me. But you 
don’t dance well enough, in case I can get a better 
partner. I love valsing too much to waste one with a 
poor dancer.” 

A moment before Peter thought waltzing the most ex- 
quisite pleasure the world contained. But he suddenly 
changed his mind, and concluded it was odious. 

“ Nevertheless,” he decided, “I will learn how.” 


CHAPTER LI. 

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 

Peter had his ride the next morning, and had a very 
interested listener to his account of that dinner. The 
listener, speaking from vast political knowledge, told him 
at the end, “You did just right. I thoroughly approve o t 

you.” 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 


317 

“ That takes a great worry off my mind,” said Peter 
soberly. “ I was afraid, since we were to be such friends, 
and you wanted my help in the whirligig this winter, that 
you might not like my possibly having to live in Albany.” 

“ Can’t you live in New York? ” said Leonore, looking 
horrified. 

“ No.” 

“ Then I don’t like it at all,” said Leonore. “It’s no 
good having friends if they don’t live near one.” 

“That’s what I think,” said Peter. “I suppose I 
couldn’t tempt you to come and keep house for me?” 

“ Now I must snub him,” thought Leonore. “ No/ 
she said, “It will be bad enough to do that five years from 
now, for the man I love.” She looked out from under her 
eyelashes to see if her blow had been fatal, and concluded 
from the glumness in Peter’s face, that she really had 
been too cruel. So she added : “But you may give me 
a ball, and we’ll all come up and stay a week with you.” 

Peter relaxed a little, but he said dolefully, “I don’t 
know what I shall do. I shall be in such need of your 
advice in politics and housekeeping. ” 

“ Well,” said Leonore, “ if you really find that you can’t 
get on without help, we’ll make it two weeks. But 
you must get up toboggan parties, and other nice things. ” 

“ I wonder what the papers will say,” thought Peter, “ if 
a governor gives toboggan parties ? ” 

After the late breakfast, Peter was taken down to see the 
tournament. He thought he would not mind it, since he 
was allowed to sit next Leonore. But he did. First he 
wished that she wouldn’t pay so much attention to the 
score. Then that the men who fluttered round her would 
have had the good taste to keep away. It enraged Peter 
to see how perfectly willing she was to talk and chat 
about things of which he knew nothing, and how more 
than willing the men were. And then she laughed at 
what they said ! 

“ That’s fifteen-love, isn’t it ? ” Leonore asked him 
presently. 

“ He doesn’t look over fifteen,” actually growled Peter. 
“ I don’t know whether he 5 s in love or not. I suppose he 
thinks he is. Boys fifteen years old always do. ” 

Leonore forgot the score, even, in her surprise. “Why,” 
she said, “you growl just like Betise (the mastifl). 


318 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

Now I know what the papers mean when they say you 
roar. ” 

“ Well,” said Peter, “it makes me cross to see a lot oi 
boys doing nothing but hit a small ball, and a lot more 
looking at them and thinking that it’s worth doing.” 
Which was a misstatement. It was not that which made 
Peter mad. 

“ Haven’t you ever played tennis ? ” 

“ Never. I don’t even know how to score.” 

“ Dear me,” said Leonore. “ You’re dreadfully illit- 
erate. ” 

“ I know it,” growled Peter, “ I don’t belong here, and 
have no business to come. I’m a ward boss, and my 
place is in saloons. Don’t hesitate to say it. ” 

All this was very foolish, but it was real to Peter for the 
moment, and he looked straight ahead with lines on his face 
which Leonore had never seen before. He ought to have 
been ordered to go off by himself till he should be in better 
mood. 

Instead Leonore turned from the tennis, and said : 
“ Please don’t talk that way, Peter. You know I don’t 
think that. ” Leonore had understood the misery which 
lay back of the growl. “ Poor fellow,” she thought, “ I 
must cheer him up.” So she stopped looking at the 
tennis. “See,” she said, “there are Miss Winthrop and 
Mr. Pell. Do take me over to them and let me spring my 
surprise. You talk to Miss Winthrop.” 

“Why, Peter ! ” said Pell. “ When did you come ? ” 

“ Last night. How do you do, Miss Winthrop ? ” Then 
for two minutes Peter talked, or rather listened, to that 
young lady, though sighing internally. Then, Laus Deo J 
up came the poor little chap, whom Peter had libelled in 
age and affections, only ten minutes before, and set Peter 
free. He turned to see how Leonore’s petard was pro- 
gressing, to find her and Pell deep in tennis. But just 
as he was going to expose his ignorance on that game, 
Leonore said : 

“ Mr. Pell, what do you think of the political outlook ? * 

Pell sighed internally. “You can read it in the papers,” 
he said. 

“No. I want your opinion. Especially about the 
great departure the Democratic Convention is going to 
make.” 


THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE . 


3*9 


“You mean in endorsing Maguire? ” 

Leonore began to visibly swell in importance. “Of 
course not,” she said, contemptuously. ‘ ‘ Every one knows 
that that was decided against at the Manhattan dinner. 
I mean the unusual resolution about the next senator.” 

Pell ceased to sigh. “ I don’t know what you mean? ” 
he said. 

“Not really?” said Leonore incredulously, her nose 
cocking a little more airily. “I thought of course you 
would know about it. I’m so surprised ! ” 

Pell looked at her half quizzingly, and half question- 
ingly. “What is the resolution ? ” 

“Naming a candidate for the vacancy for the Senate.” 

“Nonsense,” said Pell, laughing. “The convention 
has nothing to do with the senators. The Legislature 
elects them.” He thought, “ Why can’t women, if they 
will talk politics, at least learn the ABC.” 

“Yes,” said Leonore, “ but this is a new idea. The 
Senate has behaved so badly, that the party leaders think 
it will be better to make it a more popular body by hav- 
ing the New York convention nominate a man, and then 
they intend to make the legislature elect him. If the 
other states will only follow New York’s lead, it may 
make the Senate respectable and open to public opinion. ” 

Pell sniffed obviously. “In what fool paper did you 
read that ? ” 

“ I didn’t read it,” said Leonore, her eyes dancing with 
delight. “ The papers are always behind the times. But 
I didn’t think that you would be, since you are to be 
named in the resolution.” 

Pell looked at her blankly. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Didn’t you know that the Convention will pass a res- 
nlution, naming you for next senator ? ” said Leonore, 
with both wonder and pity in her face and voice. 

“Who told you that ? ” said Pell, with an amount of 
interest blended with doubt that was a decided contrast to 
a moment ago. 

“ That’s telling,” said Leonore. “You know, Mr. Pell, 
that one mustn’t tell people who are outside the party 
councils everything.” 

“ I believe you are trying to stuff me,” said Pell. “ If 
it is so, or anything like it, you wouldn’t know.” 

“Oh,” said Leonore, tantalizingly, “I could tell you a 


$20 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


great deal more than that. But of course you don’t care 
to talk politics with a girl. ” 

Pell weakened. “Tell me who told you about it? '* 

“ I think we must go home to lunch,” said Leonore, 
turning to Peter, who had enjoyed Leon ore’s triumph 
almost as much as she had. 

“ Peter,” said Pell, “have you heard what Miss D’Alloi 
has been saying ? ” 

“Part of it.” 

“Where can she have picked it up ? ” 

“I met Miss D’Alloiat a lunch at the White House, last 
June,” said Peter seriously, “and she, and the President, 
and I, talked politics. Politically, Miss D’Alloi is rather a 
knowing person. I hope you haven’t been saying any- 
thing indiscreet, Miss D’Alloi ? ” 

“ I’m afraid I have,” laughed Leonore, triumphantly 
adding, “but I won’t tell anything more.” 

Pell looked after them as they went towards the car- 
riage. “ How extraordinary ! ” he said. “ She couldn’t 
have it from Peter. He tells nothing. Where the deuce 
did she get it, and is it so ? ” Then he said: “Senator 
Van Brunt Pell,” with a roll on all the r’s. “ That sounds 
well. I wonder if there’s anything in it ? ” 

“I think,” said Leonore to Peter, triumphantly, “that 
he would like to have talked politics. But he’ll get 
nothing but torture from me if he tries. ” 

It began to dawn on Peter that Leonore did not, despite 
her frank manner, mean all she said. He turned to her, 
and asked : 

“Are you really in earnest in saying that you’ll refuse 
every man who asks you to marry him within five 
years ? ” 

Leon ore’s triumph scattered to the four winds. “ What 
an awfully impudent question,” she thought, “ after my 
saying it so often. What shall I answer ? ” She locked 
Peter in the eye with severity. “I shan’t refuse,” she 
said, “ because I shan’t even let him speak. If any man 
dares to attempt it, I’ll tell him frankly I don’t care to 
listen. ” 

“ She really means it,” sighed Peter internally. “ Why 
is it, that the best girls don’t care to marry ? ” Peter became 
very cross, and, what is worse, looked it. 

Nor was Leonore much better. “ There,” she said, “ I 


THE COURSE OE TRUE LOVE. 


321 

knew just how it would be. He’s getting sulky already. 
He isn’t nice any more. The best thing will be to let him 
Speak, for then he’ll go back to New York, and won’t 
bother me. ” The corners of her mouth drew away down, 
and life became very gray. 

So “the best of friends” rode home from the Casino, 
without so much as looking at each other, much less 
speaking. Clearly Peter was right. There was no good 
in trying to be friends any longer. 

Precedent or habit, however, was too strong to sustain 
this condition long. First Leonore had to be helped out 
of the carriage. This was rather pleasant, for she had to 
give Peter her hand, and so life became less unworth 
living to Peter. Then the footman at the door gave Peter 
two telegraphic envelopes of the bulkiest kind, and Leonore 
too began to take an interest in life again. 

“What are they about? ” she asked. 

“The Convention. I came off so suddenly that some 
details were left unarranged. ” 

“Read them out loud,” she said calmly, as Peter broke 
the first open. 

Peter smiled at her, and said : “ If I do, will you give 
me another waltzing lesson after lunch ? ” 

“ Don’t bargain,” said Leonore, disapprovingly. 

“Very well,” said Peter, putting the telegrams in his 
pocket, and turning towards the stairs. 

Leonore let him go up to the first landing. But as soon 
as she became convinced that he was really going to 
his room, she said, “ Peter.” 

Peter turned and looked down at the pretty figure at the 
foot of the stairs. He came down again. When he had 
reached the bottom he said, “ Well ? ” 

Leonore was half angry, and half laughing. “You 
ought to want to read them to me,” she said, “ since we 
are such friends. ” 

“ I do,” said Peter. “ And you ought to want to teach 
me to waltz, since we are such friends.” 

“But I don’t like the spirit,” said Leonore. 

Peter laughed. “ Nor I,” he said. “Still, I’ll prove I’m 
the better, by reading them to you. ” 

“Now I will teach him,” said Leonore to herself. 

Peter unfolded the many sheets. “This is very secret, 
of course,” he said. 

2 1 


THE HONORABLE BE TER STIRLING , 


$22 

“Yes.” Leonore looked round the hall as if she was a 
conspirator. “Come to the window-seat upstairs,” she 
whispered, and led the way. When they had ensconced 
themselves there, and drawn the curtains, she said, ‘ ‘ Now. ” 

“You had better sit nearer me,” said Peter, “so that I 
can whisper it. ” 

“No,” said Leonore. “No one can hear us.” She 
thought, “I’d snub you for that, if I wasn’t afraid you 
wouldn’t read it. ” 

“You understand that you are not to repeat this to any 
one. ” Peter was smiling over something. 

Leonore said, “Yes,” half crossly and half eagerly. 

So Peter read : 

“ Use Hudson knowledge counties part not belief local twenty imbe- 
cility certified of yet till yesterday noon whose Malta could accurately 
it at seventeen. Potomac give throw Haymarket estimated Moselle 
thirty-three to into fortify through jurist arrived down right ” 

“I won’t be treated sol” interrupted Leonore, indig- 
nantly. 

“ What do you mean,” said Peter, still smiling. “Pm 
reading it to you, as you asked. ” 

“ No you are not. You are just making up.” 

“ No,” said Peter. “ It’s all here. ” 

“Let me see it” Leonore shifted her seat so as to 
overlook Peter. 

“That’s only two pages,” said Peter, holding them so 
that Leonore had to sit very close to him to see. “There 
are eighteen more.” 

Leonore looked at them. “ Was it written by a luna- 
tic ? ” she asked. 

“No.” Peter looked at the end. “It’s from Green. 
Remember. You are not to repeat it to any one.” 

“ Luncheon is served, Miss D’Alloi,” said a footman. 

“ Bother luncheon,” thought Peter. 

“ Please tell me what it means ?” said Leonore, rising. 

“I can’t do that, till I get the key and decipher it.” 

“Oh ! ” cried Leonore, clapping her hands in delight. 
“It’s a cipher. How tremendously interesting ! We’ll 
go at it right after lunch and decipher it together, won’t 
we?” 

“ After the dancing lesson, you mean, don’t you ? ” sug 
gested Peter. 


A GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


3*3 

“ How did you know I was going to do it ? ” asked 
Leon ore. 

“You told me.” 

“ Never ! I didn’t say a word” 

“You looked several,” said Peter. 

Leonore regarded him very seriously. “You are not 
* Peter Simple ’ a bit,” she said. “ I don’t like deep men. ’' 
She turned and went to her room. “I really must be 
careful,” she told the enviable sponge as it passed over 
her face, “he’s a man who needs very special treat- 
ment. I ought to send him right back to New York. 
But I do so want to know about the politics. No. I’ll 
keep friends till the campaign’s finished. Then he’ll have 
to live in Albany, and that will make it all right. Let me 
see. He said the governor served three years. That isn’t 
five, but perhaps he’ll have become sensible before then.” 

As for Peter, he actually whistled during his ablutions, 
which was something he had not done for many years. 
He could not quite say why, but it represented his 
mood better than did his earlier growL 


CHAPTER LII. 

A GUARDIAN ANGEL. 

Peter had as glorious an afternoon as he had had a bad 
morning. First he danced a little. Then the two sat at 
the big desk in the deserted library and worked together 
over those very complex dispatches till they had them 
translated. Then they had to discuss their import. Fi- 
nally they had to draft answers and translate them into 
cipher. All this with their heads very close together, and 
an utter forgetfulness on the part of a certain personage 
that snubbing rather than politics was her “ plan of cam- 
paign.” But Leonore began to feel that she was a polit- 
ical power herself, and so forgot her other schemes. 
When they had the answering dispatches fairly transcribed, 
she looked up at Peter and said : 

“ I think we’ve done that very well,” in the most ap- 
proving voice. “ Do you think they’ll do as we tell 
them ? ” 


3 2 4 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Peter looked down into that dearest of faces, gazing at 
him so frankly and with such interest, so very near his* 
and wondered what deed was noble or great enough to win 
a kiss from those lips. Several times that afternoon, it had 
seemed to him that he could not keep himself from lean- 
ing over and taking one. He even went so far now as to 
speculate on exactly what Leonore would do if he did. 
Fortunately his face was not given to expressing his 
thoughts. Leonore never dreamed how narrow an escape 
she had. “ If only she wouldn’t be so friendly and con- 
fiding, ” groaned Peter, even while absolutely happy in her 
mood. “ I can’t do it, when she trusts me so.” 

“Well,” said Leonore, “perhaps when you’ve done 
staring at me, you’ll answer my question. ” 

“ I think they’ll do as we tell them,” smiled Peter. “ But 
we’ll get word to-morrow about Dutchess and Steuben. 
Then we shall know better how the land lies, and can talk 
plainer.” 

“ Will there be more ciphers, to-morrow ? ” 

“Yes.” To himself Peter said, “I must write Green 
and the rest to telegraph me every day. ” 

“ Now we’ll have a cup of tea,” said Leonore. “ I like 
politics.” 

“Then you would like Albany,” said Peter, putting a 
chair for her by the little tea-table. 

“I wouldn’t live in Albany for the whole world,” said 
Leonore, resuming her old self with horrible rapidity. 
But just then she burnt her finger with the match with 
which she was lighting the lamp, and her cruelty vanished 
in a wail. “ Oh ! ” she cried. “ How it hurts.” 

“Let me see,” said Peter sympathetically. 

The little hand was held up. “ It does hurt,” said 
Leonore, who saw that there was a painful absence of all 
signs of injury, and feared Peter would laugh at such a 
burn after those he had suffered. 

But Peter treated it very seriously. “ I’m sure it does,” 
he said, taking possession of the hand. “ And I know how 
it hurts.” He leaned over and kissed the little thumb. 
Then he didn’t care a scrap whether Leonore liked Albany 
or not. 

“I won’t snub you this time,” said Leonore to herself, 
* because you didn’t laugh at me for it. ” 

Peter’s evening was not so happy. Leonore told him 


A GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


325 

as they rose from dinner that she was going to a dance. 
“We have permission to take you. Do you care to go ? ” 

‘‘Yes. If you’ll give me some dances.” 

“ I’ve told you once that I’ll only give you the ones 
not taken by better dancers. If you choose to stay round 
I’ll take you for those.” 

4i Do you ever have a dance over ? ’’asked Peter, marvel- 
ling at such a possibility. 

“ I’ve only been to one dance. I didn’t have at that.” 

“Well,” said Peter, growling a little, “ I’ll go.” 

“ Oh,” said Leonore, calmly, “ don’t put yourself out on 
my account.” 

“ I’m not,” growled Peter. “ I’m doing it to please my- 
self.” Then he laughed, so Leonore laughed too. 

4 After a game of billiards they all went to the dance. As 
they entered the hall, Peter heard his name called in a 
peculiar voice behind. He turned and saw Dorothy. 

Dorothy merely said, “ Peter l ” again. But Peter under- 
stood that explanations were in order. He made no at- 
tempt to dodge. 

“Dorothy,” he said softly, giving a glance at Leonore, 
to see that she was out of hearing, “when you spent 
that summer with Miss De Voe, did Ray come down every 
week ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Would he have come if you had been travelling out 
west ? ” 

“Oh, Peter,” cried Dorothy, below her breath, “I’m so 
glad it’s come at last ! ” 

We hope our readers can grasp the continuity of Doro- 
thy’s mental processes, for her verbal ones were rather 
inconsequent. 

“She’s lovely,” continued the verbal process. “And 
I’m sure I can help you. ” 

“ I need it,” groaned Peter. “ She doesn’t care in the 
least for me, and I can’t get her to. And she says she 
isn’t going to marry for ” 

*• Nonsense 1” interrupted Dorothy, contemptuously, 
and sailed into the ladies’ dressing-room. 

Peter gazed after her. “ I wonder what’s nonsense?” 
he thought. 

Dorothy set about her self-imposed task with all the 
dldor for matchmaking, possessed by a perfectly happy 


326 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

married woman. But Dorothy evidently intended that 
Leonore should not marry Peter, if one can judge from 
the tenor of her remarks to Leonore in the dressing-room. 
Peter liked Dorothy, and would probably not have be- 
lieved her capable of treachery, but it is left to mascu- 
line mind to draw any other inference from the dialogue 
which took place between the two, as they prinked be- 
fore a cheval glass. 

“Pm so glad to have Peter here for this particular even- 
ing, ” said Dorothy. 

“Why?” asked Leonore, calmly, in the most uninter- 
ested of tones. 

“Because Miss Biddle is to be here. For two years 
I’ve been trying to bring those two together, so that they 
might make a match of it. They are made for each 
other.” 

Leonore tucked a rebellious curl in behind the drawn- 
back lock. Then she said, “What a pretty pin you have.” 

“Isn’t it? Ray gave it to me,” said Dorothy, giving 
Leonore all the line she wanted. 

“ Pve never met Miss Biddle,” said Leonore. 

“She’s a great beauty, and rich. And then she has that 
nice Philadelphia manner. Peter can’t abide the young- 
girl manner. He hates giggling and talking girls. It’s 
funny too, because, though he doesn’t dance or talk, they 
like him. But Miss Biddle is an older girl, and can talk 
on subjects which please him. She is very much inter- 
ested in politics and philanthropy. ” 

“ I thought,” said Leonore, fluffing the lace on her gown, 
“that Peter never talked politics.” 

“ He doesn’t,” said Dorothy. “But she has studied 
political economy. He’s willing to talk abstract subjects. 
She’s just the girl for a statesman’s wife. Beauty, tact, 
very clever, and yet very discreet. I’m doubly glad they’ll 
meet here, for she has given up dancing, so she can 
entertain Peter, who would otherwise have a dull time 
of it.” 

“ If she wants to,” said Leonore. 

“ Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m not a bit afraid about that. 
Peter’s the kind of man with whom every woman’s ready 
to fall in love. Why, my dear, he’s had chance after 
chance, if he had only cared to try. But, of course, he 
doesn’t care for such women as you and me, who can’t 


A GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


3*7 


enter into his thoughts or sympathize with his ambitions. 
To him we are nothing but dancing, dressing, prattling 
flutter-birds. ” Then Dorothy put her head on one side, 
and seemed far more interested in the effect of her own 
frock than in Peter’s fate. 

“ He talks politics to me” Leonore could not help say- 
ing. Leonore did not like Dorothy’s last speech. 

“ Oh, Peter’s such a gentleman that he always talks 
seriously even to us ; but it’s only his politeness. I’ve 
seen him talk to girls like you, and he is delightfully cour- 
teous, and one would think he liked it. But, from little 
things Ray has told me, I know he looks down on society 
girls. ” 

“ Are you ready, Leonore? ” inquired Mrs. D’Alloi. 

Leonore was very ready. Watts and Peter were ready 
also ; had been ready during the whole of this dialogue. 
Watts was cross ; Peter wasn’t. Peter would will- 
ingly have waited an hour longer, impatient only for 
the moment of meeting, not to get downstairs. That is 
the difference between a husband and a lover. 

“ Peter,” said Leonore, the moment they were on the 
stairs, “ do you ever tell other girls political secrets ? ” 

Dorothy was coming just behind, and she poked Peter 
in the back with her fan. Then, when Peter turned, she 
said with her lips as plainly as one can without speaking : 
“Say yes.” 

Peter looked surprised. Then he turned to Leonore and 
said, “ No. You are the only person, man or woman, 
with whom I like to talk politics. ” 

“ Oh ! ” shrieked Dorothy to herself. “You great, big, 
foolish old stupid ! Just as I had fixed it so nicely ! ” 
What Dorothy meant is quite inscrutable. Peter had told 
the truth. 

But, after the greetings were over, Dorothy helped Peter 
greatly. She said to him, “ Give me your arm, Peter. 
There is a girl here whom I want you to meet. ” 

“ Peter’s going to dance this valse with me,” said Leo- 
nore. And Peter had two minutes of bliss, amateur though 
he was. Then Leonore said cruelly, “That’s enough; 
you do it very badly 1 ” 

When Peter had seated her by her mother, he said : 
“ Excuse me for a moment. I want to speak to Dorothy. ” 

“ I knew you would be philandering after the young 


328 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

married women. Men of your age always do,” said Leo 
nore, with an absolutely incomprehensible cruelty. 

So Peter did not speak to Dorothy. He sat down by 
Leonore and talked, till a scoundrelly, wretched, villain- 
ous, dastardly, low-born, but very good-looking fellow car- 
ried off his treasure. Then he wended his way to Dorothy. 

“ Why did you tell me to say ‘yes’? ” he asked. 

Dorothy sighed. “I thought you couldn’t have under- 
stood me,” she said ; “ but you are even worse than I sup- 
posed. Never mind, it’s done now. Peter, will you do 
me a great favor ? ’* 

“ I should like to,” said Peter. 

“ Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia, is here. She doesn’t 
know many of the men, and she doesn’t dance. Now, if 
I introduce you, won’t you try to make her have a good 
time ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Peter, gloomily. 

“ And don’t go and desert her, just because another man 
comes up. It makes a girl think you are in a hurry to 
get away, and Miss Biddle is very sensitive. I know you 
don’t want to hurt her feelings.” All this had been said 
as they crossed the room. Then : “ Miss Biddle, let me 
introduce Mr. Stirling.” 

Peter sat down to his duty. “I mustn’t look at Leo- 
nore,” he thought, “ or I shan’t be attentive. So he turned 
his face away from the room heroically. As for Dorothy, 
she walked away with a smile of contentment. “ There, 
miss,” she remarked, “we’ll see if you can trample on 
dear old Peter ! ” 

“Who’s that girl to whom Mr. Stirling is talking? n 
asked Leonore of her partner. 

“ Ah, that’s the rich Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia,” re- 
plied the scoundrel, in very gentleman-like accents for one 
of his class. “ They say she’s never been able to find a 
man good enough for her, and so she’s keeping herself on 
ice till she dies, in hopes that she’ll find one in heaven. 
She’s a great catch. ” 

“ She’s decidedly good-looking,” said Leonore. 

“ Think so ? Some people do. I don’t. I don’t like 
blondes. ” 

When Leonore had progressed as far as her fourth part- 
ner, she asked : “What sort of a girl is that Miss Biddle ? ” 

“ She’s really stunning,” she was told. “ Fellows are 


A GUARDIAN ANGEL. 


3*1 


all wild about her. But she has an awfully snubbing 
way.” 

“ Is she clever ? ” 

“ Is she? That’s the trouble. She won’t have any- 
thing to do with a man unless he’s clever. Look at her 
to-night ! She got her big fish right off, and sne’s driven 
away every man who’s come near her ever since. She’s 
the kind of a girl that, if she decides on anything, she 
does it.” 

“ Who’s her big fish ? ” said Leonore, as if she had not 
noticed. 

“That big fellow, who is so awfully exclusive — Stirling. 
He doesn’t think any people good enough for him but the 
Pells, and Miss De Voe, and the Ogdens. What they can 
see in him I can’t imagine. I sat opposite him once at 
dinner, this spring, at the William Pells, and he only said 
three things in the whole meal And he was sitting next 
that clever Miss Winthrop. ” 

After the fifth dance, Dorothy came up to Leonore. 
“It’s going beautifully,” she said; “do you see how 
Peter has turned his back to the room ? And I heard a 
man say that Miss Biddle was freezing to every man who 
tried to interrupt them. I must arrange some affairs this 
week so that they shall have chances to see each other. 
You will help me ? ” 

“ I’m very much engaged for this week,” said Leonore. 

“ What a pity ! Never mind ; I’ll get Peter. Let me 
see. She rides beautifully. Did Peter bring his horses ? ” 

“ One,” said Leonore, with a suggestion of reluctance 
in stating the fact. 

“ I’ll go and arrange it at once,” said Dorothy, thinking 
that Peter might be getting desperate. 

“ Mamma,” said Leonore, “ how old Mrs. Rivington 
has grown ! ” 

“ I haven’t noticed it, dear,” said her mother. 

Dorothy went up to the pair and said: “Peter, won’t 
you show Miss Biddle the conservatories ! You know,” 
she explained, “they are very beautiful.” 

Peter rose dutifully, but with a very passive look on his 
face. 

“ And, Peter,” said Dorothy, dolefully, “ will you take 
me in to supper ? I haven’t found a man who’s had the 

grace to ask me.” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING* 


33 ° 


“ Yes.” 

“ We’ll sit at the same table,” said Dorothy to Miss 
Biddle. 

When Peter got into the carriage that evening he was 
very blue. ‘‘I had only one waltz,” he told himself, 
‘‘and did not really see anything else of her the whole 
evening. ” 

“ Is that Miss Biddle as clever as people say she is? ” 
asked Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“She is a very unusual woman,” said Peter. “I rarely 
have known a better informed one.” Peter’s tone o{ 
voice carried the inference that he hated unusual and in- 
formed women, and as this is the case with most men, 
his voice presumably reflected his true thoughts. 

“ I should say so,” said Watts. “At our little table 
she said the brightest things, and told the best stories. 
That’s a girl as is a girl. I tried to see her afterwards, 
but found that Peter was taking an Italian lesson of her.” 

“What do you mean? ” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“I have a chap who breakfasts with me three times a 
week, to talk Italian, which I am trying to learn,” said 
Peter, “and Dorothy told Miss Biddle, so she offered to 
talk in it. She has a beautiful accent, and it was very 
good of her to offer, for I know very little as yet, and 
don’t think she could have enjoyed it.” 

“What do you want with Italian? ” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“To catch the Italian vote,” said Peter. 

“Oh, you sly-boots,” said Watts. Then he turned. 
“What makes my Dot so silent ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh,” said Leonore in weary tones, “ I’ve danced too 
much and I’m very, very tired. ” 

“Well,” said Watts, “see that you sleep late.” 

“ I shall be all right to-morrow,” said Leonore, “and I’m 
going to have an early horseback ride. ” 

“Peter and I will go too,” said Watts. 

“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I’m to ride with Dorothy 
and Miss Biddle.” 

“ Ha, ha,” said Watts. “ More Italian lessons, eh ? ” 

Two people looked very cross that evening when they 
got to their rooms. 

Leonore sighed to her maid : “ Oh, Marie, I am so tired ! 
Don’t let me be disturbed till it’s nearly lunch. ” 

And Peter groaned to nobody in particular, “ An evening 


INTERFERENCE. 


33i 

and a ride gone ! I tried to make Dorothy understand 
It’s too bad of her to be so dense. ” 

So clearly Dorothy was to blame. Yet the cause of all 
this trouble fell asleep peacefully, remarking to herself, 
just before she drifted into dreamland, “ Every man in 
love ought to have a guardian, and I’ll be Peter’s.” 


CHAPTER LIII. 

INTERFERENCE. 

When Peter returned from his ride the next day, he 
found Leonore reading the papers in the big hall. She 
gave him a very frigid “ good-morning,” yet instantly 
relaxed a little in telling him there was another long 
telegram for him on the mantel. She said nothing of his 
reading the despatch to her, but opened a new sheet of 
paper, and began to read its columns with much apparent 
interest. That particular page was devoted to the current 
prices of “ Cotton ; ” “Coffee ; ” “ Flour ; ” “ Molasses ; ” 
“Beans ; ” “ Butter ; ” “ Hogs; ” “Naval Stores; ” “Ocean 
Freights,” and a large number of equally kindred and 
interesting subjects. 

Peter took the telegram, but did not read it. Instead 
he looked down at all of his pretty “friend” not sedu- 
lously hidden by the paper. He recognized that his 
friend had a distinctly “not-at-home ” look, but after a 
moment’s hesitation he remarked, “You don’t expect me 
to read this alone ? ” 

Silence. 

“Because,” continued Peter, “it’s an answer to those 
we wrote and sent yesterday, and I shan’t dare reply it 
without your advice.” 

Silence. 

Peter coolly put his hand on the paper and pushed it 
down till he could see Leonore’s face. When he had 
done that he found her fairly beaming. She tried to put 
on a serious look quickly, and looked up at him with 
it on. 

But Peter said, “I caught you,” and laughed. Then 


332 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


Leonore laughed. Then they filled in the space before 
lunch by translating and answering the telegram. 

As soon as that meal was over, Peter said, “ Now will 
you teach me waltzing again ? ” 

“No.” 

“Why not ? ” 

“ I’m not going to spend time teaching a man to dance, 
who doesn’t dance.” 

“I was nearly wild to dance last night,” said Peter. 

“Then why didn’t you ? ” 

“ Dorothy asked me to do something.” 

“I don’t think much of men who let women control 
them. ” 

“I wanted to please Dorothy,” said Peter. “I was as 
well off talking to one girl as to another. Since you don’t 
like my dancing, I supposed you would hardly choose to 
dance again with me, or ropes wouldn’t have held me.” 

“I can talk Italian too,” said Leonore, with no appa- 
rent connection. 

“ Will you talk it with me ? ” said Peter eagerly. “You 
see, there are a good many Italians in the district now, 
who, by their ignorance and their not speaking English, 
are getting into trouble all the time. I want to learn, 
so as to help them, without calling in an interpreter.” 
Peter was learning to put his requests on grounds other 
than his own wishes. 

“Yes,” said Leonore, very sweetly, “and I’ll give you 
another lesson in dancing. How did you enjoy your ride ? ” 

“I like Dorothy,” said Peter, “and I like Miss Biddle. 
But I didn’t get the ride I wanted. ” 

He got a very nice look from those slate-colored eyes. 

They set a music-box going, and Peter’s instruction 
began. When it was over, Leonore said : 

“You’ve improved wonderfully.” 

“ Well enough to dance with you? ” 

“Yes,” said Leonore. “ I’ll take pity on you unless 
you’d rather talk to some other girl. ” 

Peter only smiled quietly. 

“Peter,” said Leonore, later, as he was sipping his tea, 
“do you think I’m nothing but a foolish society flutter- 
bird ? ” 

* ‘ Do you want to know what I think of you ? ” asked 
Peter, eagerly > 


INTERFERENCE. 


333 

“ No,” said Leonore hastily. “ But do you think of me 
as nothing but a society girl ? ” 

“Yes,” said Peter, truth speaking in voice and face. 

The corners of Leonore’s mouth descended to a woeful 
degree. 

“ I think you are a society girl,” continued Peter, “ be* 
cause you are the nicest kind of society.” 

Leonore fairly filled the room with her smile. Then 
she said, “ Peter, will you do me a favor? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Will you tell Dorothy that I have helped you translate 
cipher telegrams and write the replies ? ” 

Peter was rather astonished, but said, “ Yes.” 

But he did it very badly, Leonore thought, for meeting 
Dorothy the next day at a lawn party, after the mere 
greetings, he said : 

“Dorothy, Miss D’Alloi has been helping me translate 
and write cipher telegrams.” 

Dorothy looked startled at the announcement for a 
moment. Then she gave a glance at Leonore, who was 
standing by Peter, visibly holding herself in a very trium- 
phant attitude. Then she burst out into the merriest of 
laughs, and kept laughing. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Peter. 

“Such a joke,” gasped Dorothy, “but I can’t tell you.” 

As for Leonore, her triumphant manner had fled, and 
her cheeks were very red. And when some one spoke to 
Dorothy, and took her attention, Leonore said to Peter 
very crossly : 

“You are so clumsy! Of course I didn’t mean that 
way.” 

Peter sighed internally. “I am stupid, I suppose,” he 
said to himself. “ I tried to do just what she asked, but 
she’s displeased, and I suppose she won’t be nice for the 
rest of the day. If it was only law or politics ! But 
women ! ” 

But Leonore didn’t abuse him. She was very kind to 
him, despite her displeasure. “ If Dorothy would only 
let me alone,” thought Peter, “I should have a glorious 
time. Why can’t she let me stay with her when she’s in 
such a nice mood. And why does she insist on my being 
attentive to her. I don’t care for her. It seems as if she 
was determined to break up my enjoyment, just as I get 


334 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING , . 


her to myself. ” Peter mixed his “hers ” and “ shes ” too 
thoroughly in this sentence to make its import clear. 
His thoughts are merely reported verbatim, as the easiest 
way. It certainly indicates that, as with most troubles, 
there was a woman in it 

Peter said much this same thing to himself quite often 
during the following week, and always with a groan. 
Dorothy was continually putting her finger in. Yet it 
was in the main a happy time to Peter. His friend treated 
him very nicely for the most part, if very variably. Peter 
never knew in what mood he should find her. Sometimes 
he felt that Leonore considered him as the dirt under her 
little feet. Then again, she could not be too sweet to 
him. There was an evening — a dinner — at which he sat 
between Miss Biddle and Leonore, when, it seemed to 
Peter, Leonore said and looked such nice things, that the 
millennium had come. Yet the next morning, she told 
him that : “It was a very dull dinner. I talked to no- 
body but you. ” 

Fortunately for Peter, the D’Allois were almost as new 
an advent in Newport, so Leonore was not yet in the 
running. But by the time Peter’s first week had sped, he 
found that men were putting their fingers in, as well as 
Dorothy. Morning, noon, and night they gathered. 
Then lunches, teas, drives, yachts, and innumerable other 
affairs also plunged their fingers in. Peter did not yield 
to the superior numbers. He went wherever Leonore 
went. But the other men went also, and understood the 
ropes far better. He fought on, but a sickening feeling 
began to creep over him of impending failure. It was 
soon not merely how Leonore treated him ; it was the 
impossibility of getting her to treat him at all. Even 
though he was in the same house, it seemed as if there 
was always some one else calling, or mealing, or taking 
tea, or playing tennis, or playing billiards, or merely drop- 
ping in. And then Leonore took fewer and fewer meals at 
home, and spent fewer and fewer hours there. One day 
Peter had to translate those despatches all by himself ! 
When he had a cup of tea now, even with three or four 
men about, he considered himself lucky. He understood 
at last what Miss De Voe had meant when she had spoken 
of the difficulty of seeing enough of a popular girl either to 
love her or to tell her of it. They prayed for rain in church 


INTERFERENCE, 


335 


on Sunday, on account of the drought, and Peter said 
“Amen ” with fervor. Anything to end such fluttering. 

At the end of two weeks, Peter said sadly that he must 
be going. 

“ Rubbish,” said Watts. “ You are to stay fora month.” 

“I hope you’ll stay,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. 

Peter waited a moment for some one else to speak. 
Some one else didn’t. 

“I think I must,” he said. “It isn’t a matter of my 
own wishes, but I’m needed in Syracuse. ” Peter spoke 
as if Syracuse was the ultimate of human misery. 

“Is it necessary for you to be there? ” asked Leonore. 

“Not absolutely, but I had better go.” 

Later in the day Leonore said, “I’ve decided you are 
not to go to Syracuse. I shall want you here to explain 
what they do to me. ” 

And that cool, insulting speech filled Peter with hap- 
piness. 

“I’ve decided to stay another week,” he told Mrs. 
D’Alloi. 

Nor could all the appeals over the telegraph move him, 
though that day and the next the wires to Newport from 
New York and Syracuse were kept hot, the despatches 
came so continuously. 

Two days after this decision, Peter and Leonore went 
to a cotillion. Leonore informed him that: “Mamma 
makes me leave after supper, because she doesn’t like me 
to stay late, so I miss the nice part. ” 

“ How many waltzes are you going to give me ? ” asked 
Peter, with an eye to his one ball-room accomplishment. 

“I’ll give you the first,” said Leonore, “and then if 
you’ll sit near me, I’ll give you a look every time I see a 
man coming whom I don’t like, and if you are quick and 
ask me first, I’ll give it to you. ” 

Peter became absolutely happy. “ How glad I am,” 

thought, “that I didn’t go to Syracuse ! What a shame 
it is there are other dances than waltzes.” 

But after Peter had had two waltzes, he overheard his 
aged friend of fifteen years say something to a girl that 
raised him many degrees in his mind. “That’s a very 
brainy fellow,” said Peter admiringly. “That never oc- 
curred to me I ” 

So he waited till he saw Leonore seated, and then 


336 THE HON ORA BLE PETER STIRLING. 

joined her. “Won’t you sit out this dance with me?* 
he asked. 

Leonore looked surprised. “ He’s getting very clever/’ 
she thought, never dreaming that Peter’s cleverness, like 
so many other people’s nowadays, consisted in a per- 
tinent use of quotations. Parrot cleverness, we might 
term it. Leonore listened to the air which the musicians 
were beginning, and finding it the Lancers, or dreariest of 
dances, she made Peter happy by assenting. 

“Suppose we go out on the veranda,” said Peter, still 
quoting. 

“Now of what are you going to talk?” said Leonore, 
when they were ensconced on a big wicker divan, in the 
soft half light of the Chinese lanterns. 

“ I want to tell you of something that seems to me 
about a hundred years ago,” said Peter. “But it concerns 
myself, and I don’t want to bore you.” 

“ Try, and if I don’t like it I’ll stop you,” said Leonore, 
opening up a line of retreat worthy of a German army. 

“ I don’t know what you’ll think about it,” said Peter, 
faltering a little. “I suppose I can hardly make you 
understand it, as it is to me. But I want you to know, 
because — well — it’s only fair. ” 

Leonore looked at Peter with a very tender look in her 
eyes. He could not see it, because Leonore sat so that 
her face was in shadow. But she could see his expres- 
sion, and when he hesitated, with that drawn look on his 
face, Leonore said softly : 

“ You mean — about — mamma?” 

Peter started. “ Yes ! You know ? ” 

“Yes,” said Leonore gently. “And that was why I 
trusted you, without ever having met you, and why I 
wanted to be friends. ” 

Peter sighed a sigh of relief. “ I’ve been so afraid of it,” 
he said. “She told you ? ” 

“Yes. That is, Miss De Voe told me first of your 
having been disappointed, so I asked mamma if she knew 
the girl, and then mamma told me. I’m glad you spoke 
of it, for I’ve wanted to ask you something.” 

“ What? ” 

“ If that was why you wouldn’t call at first on us ? ” 

“No.” 

“Then why did mamma say you wouldn’t call ? ” When 


INTERFERENCE, 


337 

Peter made no reply, Leonore continued, “ I knew — that is 
I felt, there was something wrong. What was it ? ” 

44 I can’t tell you.” 

44 Yes,” said Leonore, very positively. 

Peter hesitated. 4 4 She thought badly of me about some- 
thing, till I apologized to her. ” 

44 And now ? ” 

44 Now she invites me to Grey-Court.” 

4 4 Then it wasn’t anything? ” 

44 She had misjudged me.” 

44 Now, tell me what it was.” 

44 Miss D’Alloi, I know you do not mean it,” said Peter, 
44 but you are paining me greatly. There is nothing in 
my whole life so bitter to me as what you ask me to 
tell.” 

4 4 Oh, Peter,” said Leonore, 44 1 beg your pardon. I was 
very thoughtless ! ” 

44 And you don’t think the worse of me, because I loved 
your mother, and because I can’t tell you? ” said Peter, in 
a dangerous tone. 

44 No,” said Leonore, but she rose. 44 Now we’ll go back 
to the dancing.” 

44 One moment,” begged Peter. 

But Leonore was already in the full light blazing from 
the room. 44 Are you coming ? ” she said. 

44 May I have this waltz ? ” said Peter, trying to get hall 
a loaf. 

44 No,” said Leonore, 44 it’s promised to Mr. Rutgers.” 

Just then mine host came up and said : 44 1 congratulate 
you, Mr. Stirling.” 

Peter wanted to kick him, but he didn’t. 

44 1 congratulate you,” said another man. 

44 On what?” Peter saw no cause for congratulation, 
only for sorrow. 

4 4 Oh, Peter,” said Dorothy, sailing up at this junction, 
44 how nice ! And such a surprise ! ” 

44 Why, haven’t you heard? ” said mine host. 

44 Oh,” cried Leonore, 44 is it about the Convention ? ” 

44 Yes,” said a man. 44 Manners is in from the club and 
tells us that a despatch says your name was sprung on 
the Convention at nine, and that you were chosen by 
acclamation without a single ballot being taken. Every 
one’s thunderstruck.” 


338 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

“ Oh, no,” said a small voice, fairly bristling with im- 
portance, “ I knew all about it.” 

Every one laughed at this, except Dorothy. Dorothy 
had a suspicion that it was true. But she didn’t say so. 
She sniffed visibly, and said, “Nonsense. As if Petei 
would tell you secrets. Come, Peter, I want to take you 
over and let Miss Biddle congratulate you. ” 

“Peter has just asked me for this waltz,” said Leonore. 
“ Oh, Mr. Rutgers, I’m so sorry. I’m going to dance this 
with Mr. Stirling.” 

And then Peter felt he was to be congratulated. 

“ I shan’t marry him myself,” thought Leonore, “but I 
won’t have my friends married off right under my nose, 
and you can try all you want, Mrs. Rivington.” 

So Peter’s guardianship was apparently bearing fruit. 
Yet man to this day holds woman to be the weaker 
vessel ! 


CHAPTER LIV. 

OBSTINACY. 

The next morning Peter found that his prayer for a 
rainy day had been answered, and came down to break- 
fast in the pleasantest of humors. 

“See how joyful his future Excellency looks already,” 
said Watts, promptly recalling Peter to the serious part of 
life. And fortunately too, for from that moment, the time 
which he had hoped to have alone (if two ever can be 
alone), began to be pilfered from him. Hardly were they 
seated at breakfast when Pell dropped in to congratulate 
him, and from that moment, despite the rain, every friend 
in Newport seemed to feel it a bounden duty to do the 
same, and to stay the longer because of the rain. Peter 
wished he had set the time for the Convention two days 
earlier or two days later. 

“ I hope you won’t ask any of these people to luncheon,” 
Peter said in an aside to Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“Why ? ” he was asked. 

Peter looked puzzled, and finally said weakly, “ I — I 
have a good deal to do.” 

And then as proper punishment for his misdemeanor 


OBSTINACY, 


339 


the footman announced Dorothy and Miss Biddle, Ray and 
Ogden. Dorothy sailed into the room with the announce- 
ment : 

“We’ve all come to luncheon if we are asked. ” 

“Oh, Peter,” said Ray, when they were seated at the 
table. “ Have you seen this morning’s ‘Voice of Labor? ’ 
No ? Good gracious, they’ve raked up that old verse in 
Watts’s class-song and print it as proof that you were a 
drunkard in your college days. Here it is. Set to music 
and headed ‘ Saloon Pete.’ ” 

“ Look here, Ray, we must write to the ‘ Voice ’ and tell 
them the truth,” said Watts. 

“Never write to the paper that tells the lie,” said Peter, 
laughing. “Always write to the one that doesn’t. Then 
it will go for the other paper. But I wouldn’t take the 
trouble in this case. The opposition would merely say 
that : ‘ Of course Mr. Stirling’s intimate friends are bound 
to give such a construction to the song, and the attempt 
does them credit.’” 

“But why don’t you deny it, Peter?” asked Leonore 
anxiously. “ It’s awful to think of people saying you are 
a drunkard ! ” 

“ If I denied the untruths told of me I should have my 
hands full. Nobody believes such things, except the peo- 
ple who are ready to believe them. They wouldn’t be- 
lieve otherwise, no matter what I said. If you think a 
man is a scoundrel, you are not going to believe his 
word.” 

“But, Peter,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “you ought to deny 
them for the future. After you and your friends are dead, 
people will go back to the newspapers, and see what they 
said about you, and then will misjudge you.” 

“ I am not afraid of that. I shall hardly be of enough 
account to figure in history, or if I become so, such at- 
tacks will not hurt me. Why, Washington was charged 
by the papers of his day, with being a murderer, a traitor, 
and a tyrant. And Lincoln was vilified to an extent 
which seems impossible now. The greater the man, tht 
greater the abuse.” 

“Why do the papers call you ‘Pete ’?” asked Leonore, 
anxiously. “ I rather like Peter, but Pete is dreadful ! ” 

“To prove that I am unfit to be governor.” 

“ Are you serious ? ” asked Miss Biddle. 


340 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

“Yes. From their point of view, the dropping of the 
*r* ought to convince voters that I am nothing but a 
tough and heeler. ” 

“But it won’t 1 ” declared Leonore, speaking from vast 
experience. 

“I don’t think it will. Though if they keep at it, and 
really convince the voters who can be convinced by such 
arguments, that I am what they call me, they’ll elect 
me.” 

“ How ? ” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. 

“Because intelligent people are not led astray but 
outraged by such arguments, and ignorant people, who 
can be made to believe all that is said of me, by such 
means, will think I am just the man for whom they want 
to vote.” 

“ How is it possible that the papers can treat you so? ” 
said Watts. ‘ ‘ The editors know you ? ” 

“Oh, yes. I have met nearly every man connected 
with the New York press.” 

“ They must know better? ” 

“Yes. But lor partisan purposes they must say what 
they do. ” 

“Then they are deliberately lying to deceive the peo- 
ple ? ” asked Miss Biddle. 

“ It’s rather a puzzling matter in ethics,” said Peter. 
“ I don’t think that the newspaper fraternity have any 
lower standard of morals, than men in other professions. 
In the main they stand for everything that is admirable, 
so long as it’s non-partisan, and some of the men who to- 
day are now writing me down, have aided me in the past 
more than I can say, and are at this moment my personal 
friends. ” 

“How dishonest ! ” 

“ I cannot quite call it that. When the greatest and 
most honorable statesmen of Europe and America will lie 
and cheat each other to their utmost extent, under cover 
of the term ‘ diplomacy,’ and get rewarded and praised by 
their respective countries for their knavery, provided it is 
successful, I think ‘ dishonest ’ is a strong word fora merely 
partisan press. Certain it is, that the partisan press would 
end to-morrow, but for the narrowness and meanness of 
readers. ” 

“ Which they cause,” said Ogden. 


OBSTINACY. 


344 

“Just as much,” said Peter, “as the saloon makes a 
drunkard, food causes hunger, and books make readers.” 

“ But, at least, you must acknowledge they’ve got you, 
when they say you are the saloon-keepers’ friend,” laughed 
Watts. 

“Yes. I am that — but only for votes, you understand.” 

“Mr. Stirling, why do you like saloons?” asked Miss 
Biddle. 

“ I don’t like saloons. My wish is to see the day come, 
when such a gross form of physical enjoyment as tippling 
shall cease entirely. But till that day comes, till hu- 
manity has taught itself and raised itself, I want to see fair 
play.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“The rich man can lay in a stock of wine, or go to a 
hotel or club, and get what he wants at any time and all 
times. It is not fair, because a man’s pockets are filled 
with nickels instead of eagles, that he shall not have the 
same right. For that reason, I have always spoken for the 
saloon, and even for Sunday openings. You know what 
I think myself of that day. You know what I think of 
wine. But if I claim the right to spend Sunday in my 
way and not to drink, I must concede an equal right to 
others to do as they please. If a man wants to drink at 
any time, what right have I to say he shall not ? ” 

“But the poor man goes and makes a beast of himself,” 
said Watts. 

“There is as much champagne drunkenness as whisky 
drunkenness, in proportion to the number of drinkers of 
each. But a man who drinks champagne, is sent home in 
a cab, and is put to bed, while the man who can’t afford 
that kind of drink, and is made mad by poisoned and 
doctored whisky, doctored and poisoned because of our 
heavy tax on it, must take his chance of arrest. That is 
the shameful thing about all our so-called temperance 
legislation. It’s based on an unfair interference with 
personal liberty, and always discriminates in favor of the 
man with money. If the rich man has his club, let the 
poor man have his saloon.” 

“ How much better, though,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “ to stop 
the sale of wine everywhere.” 

* ' That is neither possible nor right. Y ou can’t strength- 
en humanity by tying its hands. It must be left free to 


342 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING « 


become strong. I have thought much about the problem, 
and I see only one fair and practical means of bettering 
our present condition. But boss as the papers say I am. 
I am not strong enough to force it. ” 

“ What is that, Peter? ” asked Dorothy. 

“ So long as a man drinks in such a way as not to inter- 
fere with another person’s liberty we have no right to check 
him. But the moment he does, the public has a right to 
protect itself and his family, by restraining him, as it does 
thieves, or murderers, or wife-beaters. My idea is, that a 
license, something perhaps like our dog-license, shall be 
given to every one who applies for it. That before a man 
can have a drink, this license must be shown. Then if a 
man is before the police court a second time, for drunken- 
ness, or if his family petition for it, his license shall be 
cancelled, and a heavy fine incurred by any one who gives 
or sells that man a drink thereafter. ” 

“Oh,” laughed Watts, “you are heavenly! Just im- 
agine a host saying to his dinner-party, 4 Friends, before 
this wine is passed, will you please show me your drink 
licenses . 9 ” 

“ You may laugh, Watts,” said Peter, “but such are- 
quest would have saved many a young fellow from ruin, 
and society from an occasional terrible occurrence which 
even my little social experience has shown me. And it 
would soon be so much a matter of course, that it would 
be no more than showing your ticket, to prove yourself 
entitled to a ride. It solves the problem of drunken- 
ness. And that is all we can hope to do, till humanity 

is ” Then Peter, who had been looking at Leonore, 

smiled. 

“ Is what ? ” asked Leonore. 

“ The rest is in cipher,” said Peter, but if he had finished 
his sentence, it would have been, “ half as perfect as you 
are. ” 

After this last relay of callers had departed, it began to 
pour so nobly that Peter became hopeful once more. He 
wandered about, making a room-to-room canvass, in 
search of happiness, and to his surprise saw happiness de- 
scending the broad stair incased in an English shooting- 
cap, and a mackintosh. 

“ You are not going out in such weather? ” demanded 
Peter. 


OBSTINACY. 


343 

“ Yes. I’ve had no exercise to-day, and I’m going foi 
a walk.” 

“ It’s pouring torrents,” expostulated Peter. 

“ I know it.” 

“ But you’ll get wet through.” 

“ I hope so. I like to walk in the rain.” 

Peter put his hand on the front door-handle, to which 
this conversation had carried them. “You mustn’t gc 
out,” he said. 

“I’m going,” said Leonore, made all the more eager 
now that it was forbidden. 

“ Please don’t,” said Peter weakening. 

“ Let me pass,” said Leonore decisively. 

“ Does your father know ? ” 

“ Of course not.” 

“ Then you should ask him. It’s no weather for you 
to walk in.” 

“ I shan’t ask him.” 

“ Then I shall,” and Peter went hurriedly to the library. 

“Watts,” he said, “it’s raining torrents and Leonore 
insists on going to walk. Please say she is not to go. ” 

“ All right,” said Watts, not looking up from his book. 

That was enough. Peter sped back to the hall. It was 
empty. He put his head into the two rooms. Empty. 
He looked out of the front door. There in the distance, 
was that prettiest of figures, distinguishable even when 
buried in a mackintosh. Peter caught up a cap from the 
hall rack, and set out in pursuit. Leonore was walking 
rapidly, but it did not take Peter many seconds to come 
up with her. 

“ Your father says you are not to go out.” 

“ I can’t help it, since I am out,” said Leonore, sensibly 

“ But you should come back at once.” 

“ I don’t care to,” said Leonore. 

“ Aren’t you going to obey him ? ” 

“ He never would have cared if you hadn’t interfered. 
It’s your orders, not his. So I intend to have my walk.’ 1 

“You are to come back,” said Peter. 

Leonore stopped and faced him. “This is getting in- 
teresting,” she thought. “ We’ll see who can be the mos* 
obstinate.” Aloud she said, “ Who says so ? ” 

“Ido.” 

“ And I say I shan’t” 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


344 

Peter felt his helplessness. “Please come back.” 

Leonore laughed internally. “I don’t choose to.” 

“ Then I shall have to make you.” 

“ How ? ” asked Leonore. 

That was a conundrum, indeed. If it had been a knotty 
law point, Peter would have been less nonplussed by it 

Leonore felt her advantage, and used it shamefully. 
She knew that Peter was helpless, and she said, “ How?” 
again, laughing at him. 

Peter groped blindly. “I shall make you,” he said 
again, for lack of anything better. 

“ Perhaps,” said Leonore, helping him out, though with 
a most insulting laugh in her voice and face, “you will 
get a string and lead me ? ” 

Peter looked the picture of helplessness. 

“ Or you might run over to the Goelets’, and borrow 
their baby’s perambulator,” continued that segment of the 
Spanish Inquisition. If ever an irritating, aggravating, 
crazing, exasperating, provoking, fretting, enraging, “I 
dare you,” was uttered, it was in Leonore’s manner as she 
said this. 

Peter looked about hopelessly. 

“ Please hurry up and say how,” Leonore continued, 
“for I want to get down to the cliff walk. It’s very wet 
here on the grass. Perhaps you will carry me back ? You 
evidently think me a baby in arms.” “ He’s such fun to 
tease,” was her thought, “and you can say just what 
you please without being afraid of his doing anything un- 
gentlemanly. ” Many a woman dares to torture a man for 
just the same reason. 

She was quite right as to Peter. He had recognized 
that he was powerless ; that he could not use force. 
He looked the picture of utter indecision. But as Leonore 
spoke, a sudden change came over his face and figure. 
“ Leonore had said it was wet on the grass ! Leonore 
would wet her feet ! Leonore would take cold 1 Leonore 
would have pneumonia ! Leonore would die ! ” It was a 
shameful chain of argument for a light of the bar, logic 
unworthy of a school-boy. But it was fearfully real to 
Peter for the moment, and he said to himself: “I must do 
it, even if she never forgives me. ” Then the indecision 
left his face, and he took a step forward. 

Leonore caught her breath with a gasp. The “dare- 


OBSTINACY. 


345 

you ” look, suddenly changed to a very frightened one, 
and turning, she sped across the lawn, at her utmost 
6peed. She had read something in Peter’s face, and felt 
that she must fly, however ignominious such retreat might 
be. 

Peter followed, but though he could have caught her in 
ten seconds, he did not. As on a former occasion, he 
thought : “ I’ll let her get out of breath. Then she will 
not be so angry. At least she won’t be able to talk. How 
gracefully she runs ! ” 

Presently, as soon as Leonore became convinced that 
Peter did not intend to catch her, she slowed down to a 
walk. Peter at once joined her. 

“Now,” he said, “ will you come back ? ” 

Leonore was trying to conceal her panting. She was 
not going to acknowledge that she was out of breath 
since Peter wasn’t. So she made no reply. 

“You are walking in the wrong direction,” said Peter, 
laying his hand on her arm. Then, since she made 
no reply, his hand encircled the arm, and he stopped. 
Leonore took two more steps. Then she too, curiously 
enough, halted. 

“Stop holding me,” she said, not entirely without be- 
traying her breathlessness. 

“You are to come back,” said Peter. 

He got an awful look from those eyes. They were 
perfectly blazing with indignation. 

“Stop holding me,” she repeated. 

It was a fearful moment to Peter. But he said, with an 
appeal in his voice, “You know I suffer in offending you. 
I did not believe that I could touch you without your 
consent. But your health is dearer to me than your anger 
is terrible. You must come home.” 

So Leonore, realizing that helplessness in a man exists 
only by his own volition, turned, and began walking 
towards the now distant house. Peter at once released 
her arm, and walked beside her. Not a glimpse did he get 
of those dear eyes. Leonore was looking directly before 
her, and a grenadier could not have held himself straighten 
If insulted dignity was to be acted in pantomime, the actor 
could have obtained some valuable points from that walk. 

Peter walked along, feeling semi-criminal, yet semi-* 
happy. He had saved Leonore from an early grave, and 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


346 

that was worth while doing. Then, too, he could look at 
her, and that was worth while doing. The run had made 
Leonore’s cheeks blaze, as Peter’s touch had made her eyes. 
The rain had condensed in little diamonds on her stray 
curls, and on those long lashes. It seemed to Peter that he 
had never seen her lovelier. The longing to take her in his 
arms was so strong, that he almost wished she had refused 
to return. But then Peter knew that she was deeply 
offended, and that unless he could make his peace, he 
was out of favor for a day at least. That meant a very 
terrible thing to him. A whole day of neglect ; a whole 
day with no glimpse of those eyes ; a whole day without 
a smile from those lips ! 

Peter had too much sense to say anything at once. He 
did not speak till they were back in the hall. Leonore 
had planned to go straight to her room, but Peter was 
rather clever, since she preceded him, in getting to the 
foot of the staircase so rapidly that he was there first. 

This secured him his moment for speech. He said 
simply : “ Miss D’Alloi, I ask your forgiveness for 
offending you.” 

Leonore had her choice of standing silent, of pushing 
passed Peter, or of speaking. If she had done the first, 01 
the second, her position was absolutely impregnable. 
But a woman’s instinct is to seek defence or attack in 
words rather than actions. So she said: ‘‘You had no 
right, and you were very rude.” She did not look at Peter. 

“ It pained me far more than it could pain you.” 

Leonore liked Peter’s tone of voice, but she saw that 
her position was weakening. She said, “Let me by, 
please. ” 

Peter with reluctance gave her just room to pass. He 
felt that he had not said half of what he wished, but he 
did not dare to offend again. 

As it turned out, it was the best thing he could do, for 
the moment Leonore had passed him, she exclaimed, 
“Why ! Your coat’s wringing wet.” 

“That’s nothing,” said Peter, turning to the voice. 

He found those big dark eyes at last looking at him, 
and looking at him without anger. Leonore had stopped 
on the step above him. 

“That shows how foolish you were to go out in the 
vain,” said Leonore. 


OBSTINACY. 


347 


“ Yes,” said Peter, venturing on the smallest of smiles. 

Leonore promptly explained the charge in Peter's 
“yes.” “It's very different,” he was told. “I put on 
dps and a mackintosh. You didn't put on anything. And 
it was pouring torrents.” 

“But I'm tough,” said Peter. “A wetting won't hurt 

me.” 

“So am I,” said Leonore. “I've tramped for hours 
in the Orkneys, and Sweden and Norway, when it was 
raining. But then I was dressed for it. Go and put on 
dry clothes at once.” 

That was what Peter had intended to do, but he saw 
his advantage. “ It isn’t worth while,” he said. 

“ I never heard of such obstinacy,” said Leonore. “ I 
pity your wife, if you ever get one. She’ll have an awful 
time of it. ” 

Peter did not like that view at all. But he did not 
forego at once his hope of getting some compensation 
out of Leonore's wish. So he said: “It’s too much 
trouble to change my clothes, but a cup of your tea may 
keep me from taking cold.” It was nearly five o'clock, 
and Peter was longing for that customary half-hour at the 
tea-table. 

Leonore said in the kindness of her heart, “When 
you’ve changed your clothes, I'll make you a cup.” 
Then she went upstairs. When she had reached the 
second floor, she turned, and leaning over the balustrade 
of the gallery, said. “Peter.” 

“Yes,” said Peter, surveying her from below, and 
thinking how lovely she was. 

Leonore was smiling saucily. She said in triumph : 
“I had my way. I did get my walk.” Then she went 
to her room, her head having a very victorious carriage. 

Peter went to his room, smiling. “ It's a good lawyer,” 
he told his mirror, “who compromises just enough to 
make both sides think they’ve won.” Peter changed his 
clothes with the utmost despatch, and hurried downstairs 
to the tea-table. She was not there ! Peter waited 
nearly five minutes quietly, with a patience almost colos- 
sal. Then he began to get restless. He wandered about 
the room for another two minutes. Then he became 
woe-begone. “I thought she had forgiven me,” he 
remarked. 


348 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 

“ What ? ” said the loveliest of visions from the door 
way. Most women would have told one that the beaut) 
lay in the Parisian tea-gown. Peter knew better. Still, 
he was almost willing to forgive Leonore the delay 
caused by the donning of it, the result was so eminently 
satisfactory. “And it will take her as long to make tea 
as usual, anyway,” he thought. 

“ Hadn’t I better put some rum into it to-day ? ” he was 
asked, presently. 

“You may put anything in it, except the sugar tongs,” 
said Peter, taking possession of that article. 

“But then I can’t put any sugar in.” 

“Fingers were made before forks,” suggested Peter. 
“ You don’t want to give me anything bitter, do you ? ” 

“You deserve it,” said Leonore, but she took the lumps 
in her fingers, and dropped them in the cup. 

“ I can’t wait five years ! ” thought Peter. “ I can’t wait 
five months — weeks — days — hours — minutes — sec ” 

Watts saved Peter from himself by coming in here. 
“ Hello ! Here you are. How cosy you look. I tried 
to find you both a few minutes ago, but thought you must 
have gone to walk after all. Here, Peter. Here’s a 
special delivery letter, for which I receipted a while ago. 
Give me a cup, Dot.” 

Peter said, “ Excuse me,” and, after a glance at the envel- 
ope, opened the letter with a sinking sensation. He read 
it quickly, and then reached over and rang the bell. 
When the footman came, Peter rose and said something 
In a low voice to him. Then he came back to his tea. 

“ Nothing wrong, I hope,” asked Watts. 

“Yes. At least I am called back to New York,” said 
Peter gloomily. 

“ Bother,” said Watts. “ When ? ” 

“ I shall leave by the night express.” 

“Nonsense. If it was so important as that, they’d have 
'Tired you. * 

“ It isn’t a matter which could be telegraphed.” 

( * What is it, Peter ? ” said Leonore, putting her finger in. 

“ It’s confidential.” 

So Leonore did not ask again. But when the tea was 
finished, and all had started upstairs, Leonore said, 
“Peter,” on the landing. When Peter stopped, she whi.^ 
pered, “Why are you going to New York? ” 


OBSTINACY. 


349 


c< I can’t tell you,” said Peter. 

“ Yes, you can, now that papa isn’t here/ 

“No.” 

“Yes. I know it’s politics, and you are to tell me.” 

“ It isn’t politics. ” 

“ Then what is it ? ” 

“ You really want to know?” 

“Of course . v 

“It’s something really confidential.” 

Leonore gave Peter one look of insulted dignity, a£d 
vent upstairs to her room. “ He’s different,” she said. 
“ He isn’t a bit afraid of displeasing me any more. I 
Jon’t know what to do with him.” 

Peter found Jenifer waiting. “ Only pack the grip,” he 
said. “I hope to come back in a few days.” But he 
looked very glum, and the glumness stuck to him even 
after he had dressed and had descended to dinner. 

“I am leaving my traps,” he told Mrs. D’Alloi. “For 
I hope to be back next week.” 

“Next week ! ” cried Watts. “What has been sprung 
on you that will take you that long ? ” 

“ It doesn’t depend on me, unfortunately,” said Peter, 
“ or I wouldn’t go. ” 

When the carriage was announced later, Peter shook 
hands with Watts and Mrs. D’Alloi, and then held out 
his hand to Leonore. “ Good-bye,” he said. 

“Are you going to tell me why you are going? ” said 
that young lady, with her hands behind her, in the prettiest 
of poses. 

“No.” 

“Then I shan’t say good-bye.” 

“I cannot tell you,” said Peter, quietly; “please say 
good-bye. ” 

“No.” 

That refusal caused Peter gloom all the way to ths 
station. But if Leonore could have looked into the future 
she would have seen in her refusal the bitterest sorrow 
6he had ever known. 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


35 ° 


CHAPTER LV. 

OATHS. 

As soon as Peter was on the express he went into the 
smoking cabin of the sleeping-car, and lighting a cigar, 
took out a letter and read it over again. While he was 
Still reading it, a voice exclaimed : 

“ Good ! Here’s Peter. So you are in it too ? ” Ogden 
continued, as Ray and he took seats by Peter. 

“I always did despise Anarchists and Nihilists,” sighed 
Ray, “since I was trapped into reading some of those 
maudlin Russian novels, with their eighth-century ideas 
grafted on nineteenth-century conditions. Baby brains 
stimulated with whisky.” 

Ogden turned to Peter. “ How serious is it likely to 
be, Colonel ? ” 

“I haven’t any idea,” replied Peter. “The staff is of 
the opposite party now, and I only have a formal notifi- 
cation to hold my regiment in readiness. If it’s nothing 
but this Socialist and Anarchist talk, there is no real dan- 
ger in it. ” 

“Why not?” 

“ This country can never be in danger from discontent 
with our government, for it’s what the majority want it 
to be, or if not, it is made so at the next election. That 
is the beauty of a Democracy. The majority always sup- 
ports the government. We fight our revolutions with 
ballots, not with bullets.” 

“Yet Most says that blood must be shed.” 

“ I suppose,” said Peter, “ that he has just reached the 
stage of intelligence which doctors had attained when 
they bled people to make them strong.” 

“What can you do with such a fellow’s talk? You 
can’t argue with him,” said Ogden. 

“Talk!” muttered Ray. “Don’t dignify it with that 
word. Gibberish ! ” 

“No,” said Peter. “It’s too earnest to deserve that 
name. The man can’t express himself, but way down 


OATHS. 


35 1 


underneath all the absurd talk of ‘natural monopolies,’ 
and of ‘the oppression of the money-power/ there lies a 
germ of truth, without which none of their theories would 
have a corporal’s guard of honest believers. We have 
been working towards that truth in an unsystematic way 
for centuries, but we are a long way from it, and till we 
solve how to realize it, we shall have ineffectual discon- 
tent.” 

‘‘But that makes the whole thing only the more 
arrant nonsense,” grumbled Ray. “ It’s foolish enough in 
all conscience sake, if they had a chance of success, but 
when they haven’t any, why the deuce do they want to 
drag us poor beggars back from Newport ? ” 

“Why did Rome insist on burning while Nero fiddled ? ” 
queried Peter smiling. “We should hear nothing of 
socialism and anarchy if Newport and the like had no 
existence.” 

“I believe at heart you’re a Socialist yourself,” cried 
Ray. 

“ No danger,” laughed Ogden; “ his bank account is too 
large. No man with Peter’s money is ever a Socialist.” 

“You forget,” said Ray, “that Peter is always an ex- 
ception to the rule. ” 

“ No,” said Peter. “I disagree with Socialists entirely 
both in aims and methods, but I sympathize with them, 
for I see the fearful problems which they think their 
theories will solve, and though I know how mistaken 
they are, I cannot blame them, when I see how seriously 
and honestly they believe in, and how unselfishly they 
work for, their ideas. Don’t blame the Socialists, for they 
are quite as conscientious as were the Abolitionists. 
Blame it to the lack of scientific education, which leaves 
these people to believe that theories containing a half 
truth are so wholly true that they mean the regeneration 
and salvation of society.” 

“I suppose you are right,” sighed Ray, “for you’ve 
thought of it, and I haven’t. I don’t want to, either. I 
thank the Lord Pm not as serious as you, Graveyard. 
But if you want to air your theory, I’ll lend you my ears, 
for friendship’s sake. I don’t promise to remember.” 

Peter puffed his cigar for a moment. “ I sometimes 
conclude,” he said, “ that the people who are most in need 
of education, are the coliege-bred men. They seem to 


352 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING , . 


think they’ve done all the work and study of their life in 
their four years, and so can dissipate mentally ever after.” 
But Peter smiled as he said this and continued, more 
seriously: “Society and personal freedom are only pos- 
sible in conjunction, when law or public opinion interferes 
to the degree of repressing all individual acts that inter- 
fere with the freedom of others; thus securing the greatest 
individual freedom to all. So far as physical force is con- 
cerned, we have pretty well realized this condition. 
Because a man is strong he can no longer take advantage 
of the weak. But strength is not limited to muscle. To 
protect the weak mind from the strong mind is an equal 
duty, and a far more difficult task. So far we have only 
partially succeeded. In this difficulty lies the whole 
problem. Socialism, so far as it attempts to repress in- 
dividualism, and reduce mankind to an evenness opposed 
to all natural laws, is suicidal of the best in favor of 
mediocrity. But so far as it attempts to protect that 
mediocrity and weakness from the superior minds of the 
best, it is only in line with the laws which protect us from 
murder and robbery. You can’t expect men of the Most 
variety, however, to draw such distinctions.” 

“I do wish they would settle it, without troubling me,” 
groaned Ray. “Lispenard’s right. A man’s a fool who 
votes, or serves on a jury, or joins a regiment. What’s 
the good of being a good citizen, when the other fellow 
won’t be ? I’m sick of being good for nothing. ” 

“Have you just discovered that?” laughed Ogden t 
“You’re progressing. ” 

“ No,” said Ray. “I am good for one thing. Like a 
good many other men I furnish the raw material on which 
the dearest of women may lavish her affection. Heigh- 
ho ! I wish I was before the fire with her now. It’s 
rather rough to have visits to one’s wife cut short in this 
way. ” 

Peter rose. “I am going to get some sleep, for we 
don’t know what’s before us, and may not have much 
after to-night. But, Ray, there’s a harder thing than leav- 
ing one’s wife at such a time. ” 

“ What’s that, Peter? ” asked Ray, looking at Peter with 
surprise. 

“To know that there is no one to whom your going oi 
return really matters. ” Peter passed out of the cabin. 


OATHS \ 


353 

“ By George ! ” said Ray, * 4 if it wasn’t Peter, I’d have 
sworn there was salt water in his eyes. ” 

“Annekehas always insisted that he was lonely. I 
wonder if she’s right ? ” Ogden queried. 

“ If he is, why the deuce does he get off in those solitary 
quarters of his ? ” 

“Ray,” said Ogden, “I have a sovereign contempt 
for a man who answers one question with another.” 

Peter reached the city at six the next morning, and, de- 
spite the hour, began his work at once. He made a 
number of calls in the district, holding whispered dialogues 
with men ; who, as soon as Peter was gone, hurried about 
and held similar conversations with other men ; who 
promptly went and did the same to still others. While 
they were doing this, Peter drove uptown, and went into 
Dickel’s riding academy. As he passed through the 
office, a man came out. 

“Ah, Mr. Stirling. Good-morning.” 

“Good-morning, Mr. Byrnes,” said Peter. “ How seri- 
ous is it likely to be ? ” 

“We can’t say yet. But the force has all it can do now 
to handle the Anarchists and unemployed, and if this 
strike takes place we shall need you.” 

Peter passed into another room where were eight men. 

“Good-morning, Colonel,” said one. “You are prompt. ” 

“What is the trouble ? ” 

“The Central has decided to make a general reduction. 
They put it in force at noon to-day, and are so certain 
that the men will go out, that they’ve six hundred new 
hands ready somewhere to put right in.” 

“Byrnes tells me he has all he can do.” 

“Yes. We’ve obtained the governor’s consent to em- 
body eight regiments. It isn’t only the strike that’s seri- 
ous, but this parade of the unemployed to-morrow, and 
the meeting which the Anarchists have called in the City 
Hall. Byrnes reports a very ugly feeling, and buying of 
arms. ” 

“It’s rather rough on you, Stirling,” spoke up a man. 
“ to have it come while you are a nominee.” 

Peter smiled, and passed into the room beyond. 4 * Good- 
morning, General Canfield,” he said. “I have taken the 
necessary steps to embody my regiment. Are there any 
further orders ? ” 




354 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“ If we need you, we shall put you at the Central 
Station,” the officer replied ; “so, if you do not know the 
lay of the land, you had better familiarize yourself at 
once. ” 

“General Canfield,” said Peter, “my regiment has 
probably more sympathizers with the strikers than has any 
other in the city. It could not be put in a worse place. ” 

“ Are you objecting to orders ? ” said the man, in a sharp 
decisive voice. 

“No,” replied Peter. “I am stating a fact, in hopes 
that it may prevent trouble. ” 

The man and Peter looked each other in the eye. 

“You have your orders,” said the man, but he didn't 
look pleased or proud. 

'Peter turned and left the room, looking very grave. 
He took his cab and went to his quarters. He ate a hur- 
ried breakfast, and then went down into the streets. They 
seemed peaceably active as he walked through them. A 
small boy was calling an extra, but it was in reference to 
the arrival of a much-expected racing-yacht. There was 
nothing to show that a great business depression rested 
with crushing weight on the city, and especially on the 
poor ; that anarchy was lifting its head, and from hunger- 
ing for bread was coming to hunger for blood and blaze ; 
that capital and labor were preparing to lock arms in a 
struggle which perhaps meant death and destruction. 

The armory door was opened only wide enough to let 
a man squeeze through, and was guarded by a keeper. 
Peter passed in, however, without question, and heard a 
hum of voices which showed that if anarchy was gather- 
ing, so too was order. Peter called his officers together, 
and gave a few orders. Then he turned and whispered 
for a moment with Dennis. 

“They don’t put us there, sir 1 ” exclaimed Dennis. 

“Yes.” 

“ Are they mad ? ” 

“They’ve given us the worst job, not merely as a job, 
but especially for the regiment. Perhaps they won’t mind 
if things do go wrong.” 

“ Yez mean ? ” 

“What will people say of me on November fourth, it 
my regiment flunks on September thirtieth ? ” 

“ Arrah musha dillah !” cried Dennis. ‘ ‘ An’ is that it ? * 


OATHS. 


35S 


u I’m afraid so. Will the men stand by me ? ” 

“Oi’ll make them. Yezsee,” shouted Dennis, “Oi’ll 
tell the b’ys they are tryin’ to put yez in a hole, an’ they’ll 
stan’ by yez, no matter what yez are told to do.” 

As quickly as possible Peter put on his fatigue uniform. 
When he came out, it was to find that the rank and file 
had done the same, and were now standing in groups 
about the floor. A moment later they were lined up. 

Peter stepped forward and said in a clear, ringing voice : 
“ Before the roll is called I wish to say a word. We may 
receive orders any moment to take possession of the 
buildings and switches at the Central Station, to protect 
the property and operators of that road. This will be 
hard to some of you, who believe the strikers are right. 
But we have nothing to do with that. We have taken 
our oath to preserve order and law, and we are interested 
in having it done, far more than is the capitalist, for he 
can buy protection, whether laws are enforced or not, 
while the laboring man cannot. But if any man here is 
not prepared to support the State in its duty to protect the 
life and property of all, by an enforcement of the laws, I 
wish to know it now.” 

Peter stood a moment waiting, and then said, “ Thank 
you, men.” 

The roll-call was made, and Peter sent off a line to 
headquarters, stating that his regiment, with only eighteen 
reported “missing” was mustered and ready for further 
orders. Then the regiment broke ranks, and waited. 

Just as two o’clock struck a despatch was handed 
Peter. A moment later came the rap of the drum, and 
the men rose from the floor and fell in. A few sharp, quick 
words were passed from mouth to mouth. Guns rose toj 
the shoulders with a click and a movement almost 
mechanical. The regiment swung from a long straight 
line into companies, the door rolled open, and without a 
sound, except the monotonous pound of the regular tread, 
the regiment passed into the street. At the corner they 
turned sharply, and marched up a side street, so narrow 
that the ranks had to break their lines to get within the 
curbs. So without sound of drum or music they passed 
through street after street. A regiment is thrilling when 
it parades to music : it is more so when it marches in 
silence. 


356 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

Presently it passed into a long tunnel, where the foot* 
fall echoed in a startling way. But as it neared the other 
end, a more startling sound could be heard. It was a 
low murmur, as of many voices, and of voices that were 
not pleasant. Peter’s wisdom in availing himself of the 
protection and secrecy of the tunnel as an approach 
became obvious. 

A moment later, as the regiment debouched from the 
tunnel’s mouth, the scene broke upon them. A vast 
crowd filled Fourth Avenue and Forty-second Street. 
Filled even the cut of the entrance to the tunnel. An 
angry crowd, judging from the sounds. 

A sharp order passed down the ranks, and the many 
broad lines melted into a long thin one again, even as the 
regiment went forward. It was greeted with yells, and 
bottles and bricks were hurled from above it, but the 
appearance of the regiment had taken the men too much by 
surprise for them to do more. The head entered the mob, 
and seemed to disappear. More and more of the regiment 
was swallowed up. Finally, except to those who could 
trace the bright glint of the rifle-barrels, it seemed to have 
been submerged. Then even the rifles disappeared. The 
regiment had passed through the crowd, and was within 
the station. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. To march 
up Fifth Avenue, with empty guns, in a parade, between 
ten thousand admiring spectators is one thing. To march 
between ten thousand angry strikers and their sympa- 
thizers, with ball cartridges in the rifles, is quite another. 
It is all the difference between smoking a cigar after din- 
ner, and smoking one in a powder magazine. 

The regiment’s task had only just begun, however. 
Peter had orders to clear the streets about the station. 
After a consultation with the police captain, the companies 
were told off, and filing out of the various doors, they 
began work. Peter had planned his debouchments so 
as to split the mob into sections, knowing that each frag- 
ment pushed back rendered the remainder less formi- 
dable. First a sally was made from the terminal station, 
and after two lines of troops had been thrown across Forty- 
second Street, the second was ordered to advance. Thus 
a great tongue of the mob, which stretched towards Third 
Avenue, was pressed back, almost to that street, and held 
there, without a quarter of the mob knowing that anything 


OATHS, 


357 

was being done. Then a similar operation was repeated 
on Forty-third Street and Forty-fourth Street, and posses- 
sion was taken of Madison Avenue. Another wedge was 
driven into the mob and a section pushed along Forty- 
second, nearly to Fifth Avenue. Then what was left of 
the mob was pushed back from the front of the building 
down Park Avenue. Again Peter breathed more freely. 

“ I think the worst is done,” he told his officers. “ For- 
tunately the crowd did not expect us, and was not prepared 
to resist. If you can once split a mob, so that it has no 
centre, and can’t get together again, except by going 
round the block, you’ve taken the heart out of it.” 

As he said this a soldier came up, and saluting, said : 
“ Captain Moriarty orders me to inform you that a conr 
mittee of the strikers ask to see you, Colonel.” 

Peter followed the messenger. He found a couple of 
sentries marking a line. On one side of this line sat or 
reclined Company D. and eight policemen. On the other 
stood a group of a dozen men, and back of them, the 
crowd. 

Peter passed the sentry line, and went up to the group. 
Three were the committee. The rest were the ubiquitous 
reporters. From the newspaper report of one of the latter 
we quote the rest : 

“ You wish to see me? ’’asked Colonel Stir- 
ling. 

“ Yes, Colonel,” said Chief Potter. “We are 
here to remonstrate with you.” 

“ We’ve done nothing yet,” said Doggett, 

“and till we had, the troops oughtn’t to have 
been called in.” 

“ And now people say that the scabs are to 
be given a regimental escort to the depot, and 
will go to work at eight.” 

“We’ve been quiet till now,” growled a man 
in the crowd surlily, “but we won’t stand the 
militia protecting the scabs and rats.” 

“ Are you going to fight for the capitalist ? ” 
ask Kurfeldt, when Colonel Stirling stood silent. 

“ I am fighting no man’s battle, Kurfeldt,” 
replied Colonel Stirling. “ I am obeying orders.” 

The committee began to look anxious. 

“You’re no friend of the poor man, and you 
needn’t pose any mors,” shouted one of the 
crowd. 

“ Shut your mouth,” said Kurfeldt to the 
crowd. “ Colonel Stirling,” he continued, " we 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING \> 


know you’re our friend. But you can’t stay so 
if you fight labor. Take your choice. Be the 
rich man’s servant, or our friend.” 

“ I know neither rich man nor poor man in 
this,” Colonel Stirling said. “ I know only the 
law.” 

“ You’ll let the scabs go on ? ” 

“I know no such class. If I find any man 
doing what the law allows him to do, I shall 
not interfere. But I shall preserve order.” 

“ Will you order your men to fire on us ? ” 

“ If you break the laws.” 

“Do it at your peril,” cried Potter angrily. 
“ For every shot your regiment fires, you’ll lose 
a thousand votes on election day.” 

Colonel Stirling turned on him, his face 
blazing with scorn. “ Votes,” he cried. “ Do 
you think I would weigh votes at such a time ? 
There is no sacrifice I would not make, rather 
than give the order that ends a human life ; and 
you think that paper ballots can influence my 
action ? Votes compared to men’s lives ! ” 

“ Oh,” cried Doggett, “ don’t come the heavy j 
nobility racket on us. We are here for busi- 
ness. Votes is votes, and you needn’t pretend 
you don’t think so.” 

Colonel Stirling was silent for a moment. 
Then he said calmly : “ I am here to do my 
duty, not to win votes. There are not votes 
enough in this country to make me do more or 
less.” 

“ Hear him talk,” jeered one of the crowd, 
“and he touting round the saloons to get 
votes. ” 

The crowd jeered and hissed unpleasantly. 

“ Come, Colonel,” said Kurfeldt, “ we know 
you’re after votes this year, and know too much 
to drive them away. You ain’t goin’ to lose 
fifty thousand votes, helpin’ scabs to take the 
bread away from us, only to see you and your 
party licked.” 

“No,” shouted a man in the crowd. “ You 
don’t dare monkey with votes ! ” 

Colonel Stirling turned and faced the crowd. 
“Do you want to know how much I care for 
votes,” he called, his head reared in the air. 

“Speak up loud, sonny,” shouted a man far! 
back in the mass, “ we all want to hear.” 

Colonel Stirling’s voice rang quite clear enough, 
“ Votes be damned!” he said, and turning on 
his heel, strode back past the sentries. And the 
strikers knew the fate of their attempt to keep 
out the scabs. Colonel Stirling’s “damn” had 
damned the strike as well as the votes. 


CUI BONO ? 


359 

Dead silence fell on the committee and crowd. Even 
Company D. looked astounded. Finally, however, one of 
the committee said, ‘ ‘ There’s no good wasting time here. ” 
Then a reporter said to a confrere, “What a stunning 
headline that will make ? ” Then the Captain of Company 
D. got his mouth closed enough to exclaim, “ Oi always 
thought he could swear if he tried hard. Begobs, b’ys, 
it’s proud av him we should be this day. Didn’t he swear 
strong an’ fine like? Howly hivens ! it’s a delight to hear 
damn said like that.” 

For some reason that “swear-word ” pleased New York 
and the country generally, showing that even an oath has 
its purpose in this world, so long as it is properly used. 
Dean Swift said a lie “was too good to be lavished 
about.” So it is of profanity. The crowd understood 
Peter’s remark as they would have understood nothing 
else. They understood that besides those rifles and 
bayonets there was something else not to be trifled with. 
So in this case, it was not wasted. 

And Mr. Bohlmann, Christian though he was, as he read 
his paper that evening cried, “ Och ! Dod Beder Stirling 
he always does say chust der righd ding 1 ” 


CHAPTER LVI. 

CUI BONO? 

Of the further doings of that day it seems hardly nec- 
essary to write, for the papers recorded it with a fulness 
impossible here. The gathering crowds. The reinforce- 
ment of the militia. The clearing and holding of Forty- 
second Street to the river. The arrival of the three barge- 
loads of “ scabs. ” Their march through that street to 
the station safely, though at every cross street greeted 
with a storm of stones and other missiles. The struggle 
of the mob at the station to force back the troops so as 
to get at the “ rats. ” The impact of the “ thin line ” 
and that dense seething mass of enraged, crazed men. 
The yielding of the troops from mere pressure. The 
order to the second rank to fix bayonets. The pushing 
back of the crowd once more. The crack of a revolver. 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 


360 

Then the dozen shots fired almost simultaneously. The 
great surge of the mob forward. The quick order, and 
the rattle of guns, as they rose to the shoulder. Another 
order, and the sheet of flame. The great surge of the 
mob backwards. Then silence. Silence in the ranks. 
Silence in the mob. Silence in those who lay on the 
ground between the two. 

Capital and Labor were disagreed as to a ten per cent, 
reduction of wages, and were trying to settle it. At first 
blush capital had the best of it. “Only a few strikers 
and militia-men killed,” was the apparent result of that 
struggle. The scabs were in safety inside the station, and 
trains were already making up, preparatory to a resump- 
tion of traffic. But capital did not go scot-free. “Firing 
in the streets of New York,” was the word sent out all 
over the world, and on every exchange in the country, 
stocks fell. Capital paid twenty-five million dollars that 
day, for those few ounces of lead. Such a method of 
settlement seems rather crude and costly, for the last dec- 
ade of the nineteenth century. 

Boys all over the city were quickly crying extras of the 
“Labor-party” organ, the first column of which was 
headed : 

BUTCHER STIRLING 


THE NOMINEE OF THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY 


SHOOTS DOWN UNARMED MEN 

IN 

COLD BLOOD. 

This was supplemented by inflammatory broadsides. 
Men stood up on fences, lamp-posts, or barrels, wherever 
they could get an audience, and shrieked out invectives 
against police, troops, government, and property ; and 
waved red flags. Orders went out to embody more regi- 
ments. Timid people retired indoors, and bolted their 
shutters. The streets became deserted, except where they 
were filled by groups of angry men listening to angrier 
speakers. It was not a calm night in New York. 

Yet in reality, the condition was less serious, for repre- 
sentatives of Capital, Labor, and Government were in 


CUT BONO ? 


36l 

consultation. Inside the station, in the Directors’ room 
of the railroad, its officials, a committee of the strikers, 
and an officer in fatigue uniform, with a face to match, 
were seated in great leather-covered chairs, around a large 
table. When they had first gathered, there had been dark 
brows, and every sentence had been like the blow of flint 
on steel. At one moment all but the officer had risen 
from their seats, and the meeting had seemed ended. 
But the officer had said something quietly, and once more 
they had seated themselves. Far into the night they sat, 
while mobs yelled, and sentries marched their beats. 
When the gathering ended, the scowds were gone. Civil 
partings were exchanged, and the committee and the offi- 
cer passed out together. 

“That Stirling is a gritty bull-dog for holding on, isn’t 
he?” said one of the railroad officials. “It’s a regular 
surrender for us.” 

“Yes, but we couldn’t afford to be too obstinate with 
him, for he may be the next governor.” 

One of the committee said to the officer as they passed 
into the street, “Well, we’ve given up everything to 
the road, to please you. I hope you’ll remember it when 
you’re governor and we want things done.” 

“Gentlemen,” said Peter, “for every surrender of 
opinion you and the railroad officials have made to-night, 
I thank you. But you should have compromised twelve 
hours sooner.” 

“So as you should not have had to make yourself un- 
popular?” asked Kurfeldt. “You needn’t be afraid. 
You’ve done your best for us. Now we’ll do our best for 
you.” 

“I was not thinking of myself. I was thinking of the 
dead,” said Peter. 

Peter sent a despatch to headquarters and went the 
rounds to see if all was as it should be. Then spreading 
his blanket in the passenger waiting-room, he fell asleep, 
not with a very happy look on the grave face. 

But the morning-papers announced that the strike was 
ended by a compromise, and New York and the country 
breathed easier. 

Peter did not get much sleep, for he was barely dream- 
ing of— of a striker, wflio had destroyed his peace, by 
striking him in the heart with a pair of slate-colored eyes 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


362 

—when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He was on 
his feet before the disturber of his dreams could speak 

“A despatch from headquarters,” said the man. 

Peter broke it open. It said : 

‘‘Take possession of Printing-house Square, and await 
further orders. ” In ten minutes the regiment was tramp- 
ing through the dark, silent streets, on its way to the new 
position. 

“ I think we deserve a rest,” growled the Lieutenant- 
Colonel to Peter. 

“We shan’t get it,” said Peter. “If there’s anything 
hard to be done, we shall have it.” Then he smiled. 
“You’ll have to have an understanding hereafter, before 
you make a man colonel, that he shan’t run for office.” 

“What are we in for now? ” 

“ I can’t say. To-day’s the time of the parade and meet- 
ing in City Hall Park.” 

It was sunrise when the regiment drew up in the square 
facing the Park. It was a lovely morning, with no sign 
of trouble in sight, unless the bulletin boards of the news- 
papers, which were chiefly devoted to the doings about 
the Central Station, could be taken as such. Except for 
this, the regiment was the only indication that the uni- 
versal peace had not come, and e ven this looked peaceful, 
as soon as it had settled down to hot coffee, bread and 
raw ham. 

In the park, however, was a suggestive sight. For not 
merely were all the benches filled with sleeping men, but 
the steps of the City Hall, the grass, and even the hard 
asphalt pavement were besprinkled with a dirty, ragged, 
hungry-looking lot of men, unlike those usually seen in 
the streets of New York. When the regiment marched 
into the square, a few of the stragglers rose from their 
recumbent attitudes, and looked at it, without much love 
in their faces. As the regiment breakfasted, more and 
more rose from their hard beds to their harder lives. They 
moved about restlessly, as if waiting for something. Some 
gathered in little groups and listened to men who talked 
and shrieked far louder than was necessary in order that 
their listeners should hear. Some came to the edge of 
the street and cursed and vituperated the breakfasting 
regiment. Some sat on the ground and ate food which 
they produced from their pockets or from paper bundles 


CUI BONO ? 


363 

It was not very tempting-looking food. Yet there were 
men in the crowd who looked longingly at it, and a few 
scuffles occurred in attempts to get some. That crowd 
represented the slag and scum of the boiling pot of nine- 
teenth-century conditions. And as the flotsam on a river 
always centres at its eddies, so these had drifted, from the 
country, and from the slums, to the centre of the whirl- 
pool of American life. Here they were waiting. Waiting 
for what ? The future only would show. But each 
moment is a future, till it becomes the present. 

While the regiment still breakfasted it became conscious 
of a monotonous sound, growing steadily in volume. 
Then came the tap of the drum, and the regiment rose 
from a half-eaten meal, and lined up as if on parade. 
Several of the members remarked crossly : “Why couldn’t 
they wait ten minutes ? ” 

The next moment the head of another regiment swung 
from Chambers Street into the square. It was greeted 
by hisses and groans from the denizens of the park, but 
this lack of politeness was more than atoned for, by the 
order : “ Present arms,” passed down the immovable line 
awaiting it. After a return salute the commanding officers 
advanced and once more saluted. 

“In obedience to orders from headquarters, I have the 
honor to report my regiment to you, Colonel Stirling, and 
await your orders,” said the officer of the “visiting” 
regiment, evidently trying not to laugh. 

“Let your men break ranks, and breakfast, Major 
Rivington,” said Peter. In two minutes dandy and mick 
were mingled, exchanging experiences, as they sliced 
meat off the same ham-bones and emptied the same 
cracker boxes. What was more, each was respecting and 
liking the other. One touch of danger is almost as effica- 
cious as one touch of nature. It is not the differences in 
men which make ill-feeling or want of sympathy, it is dif- 
ferences in conditions. 

In the mean time, Peter, Ray and Ogden had come 
together over their grub, much as if it was a legal rather 
than an illegal trouble to be dealt with. 

“Where were you ? ” asked Peter. 

“At the Sixty-third Street terminals,” said Ray. “We 
didn’t have any fun at all. As quiet as a cow. You always 
were lucky 1 Excuse me, Peter, I oughtn’t to have said it,” 


364 the HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

Ray continued, seeing Peter’s face. 44 It’s this wretched 
American trick of joking at every thing. ” 

Ogden, to change the subject, asked : 44 Did you really 
say 4 damn ’ ? ” 

44 Yes. ” 

44 But I thought you disapproved of cuss words.” 

44 1 do. But the crowd wouldn’t believe that I was 
honest in my intention to protect the substitutes. They 
thought I was too much of a politician to dare to do it. 
So I swore, thinking they would understand that as they 
would not anything else. I hoped it might save actual 
firing. But they became so enraged that they didn’t care 
if we did shoot. ” 

Just then one of the crowd shrieked, 44 Down with the 
blood-suckers. On to freedom. Freedom of life, of 
property, of food, of water, of air, of land. Destroy the 
money power ! ” 

44 If we ever get to the freedom he wants,” said Ray, 
44 we’ll utilize that chap for supplying free gas.” 

44 Splendid raw material for free soap,” said Ogden. 

44 He’s not the only one,” said Ray. 44 1 haven’t had a 
wash in nine hours, and salt meats are beginning to pall.” 

44 There are plenty of fellows out there will eat it for 
you, Ray,” said Peter, “and plenty more who have not 
washed in weeks.” 

44 It’s their own fault.” 

44 Yes. But if you burn or cut yourself, through igno- 
rance, that doesn’t make the pain any the less.” 

44 They don’t look like a crowd which could give us 
trouble. ” 

4 4 They are just the kind who can. They are men lifted 
off their common sense, and therefore capable of thinking 
they can do anything, just as John Brown expected to 
conquer Virginia with forty men.” 

44 But there’s no danger of their getting the upper hand.” 

44 No. Yet I wish we had orders to clear the Park now, 
while there are comparatively few here, or else to go back 
to our armories, and let them have their meeting in peace. 
Our being here will only excite them. ” 

44 Hear that,” said Ray, as the crowd gave a great roar 
as another regiment came up Park Place, across the Park 
and spread out so as to cover Broadway. 

As they sat, New Yorkers began to rise and begin 


CUT BONO t 


3 & 5 

business. But many seemed to have none, and drifted 
into the Park. Some idlers came from curiosity, but most 
seemed to have some purpose other than the mere spec- 
tacle. From six till ten they silted in imperceptibly from 
twenty streets. As fast as the crowd grew, regiments ap- 
peared, and taking up positions, lay at ease. There was 
something terrible about the quiet way in which both 
crowd and troops increased. The mercury was not high, 
but it promised to be a hot morning in New York. All 
the car lines took off their cars. Trucks disappeared from 
the streets. The exchanges and the banks closed their 
doors, and many hundred shops followed their example. 
New York almost came to a standstill as order and anar- 
chy faced each other. 

While these antagonistic forces still gathered, a man 
who had been yelling to his own coterie of listeners in 
that dense crowd, extracted himself, and limped towards 
Peter. 

“ Mr. Stirling,” he shouted, “ come out from those 
murderers. I want to tell you something.” 

Peter went forward. ‘‘What is it, Podds ? ” he asked. 

Podds dropped his voice. “We’re out for blood to-day. 
But I don’t want yours, if you do murder my fellow-men. 
Get away from here, quick. Hide yourself before the 
people rise in their might.” 

Peter smiled sadly. “How are Mrs. Podds and the 
children ? ” he asked kindly. 

“What is a family at such a moment ? ” shrieked Podds. 
“ The world is my family. I love the whole world, and 
I’m going to revolutionize it. I’m going to give every 
man his rights. The gutters shall reek with blood, and 
every plutocrat’s castle shall be levelled to the soil. But 
I’ll spare you, for though you are one of the classes, it’s 
your ignorance, not your disposition, that makes you one. 
Get away from here. Get away before it’s too late. ” 

Just then the sound of a horse’s feet was heard, and a 
Staff officer came cantering from a side street into the 
square. He saluted Peter and said, “Colonel Stirling, 
the governor has issued a proclamation forbidding the 
meeting and parade. General Canfield orders you to clear 
the Park, by pushing the mob towards Broadway. The 
regiments have been drawn in so as to leave a free pas* 
sage down the side streets. ” 


366 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


“ Don't try to move us a foot,” screamed Podds, “oi 
there’ll be blood. We claim the right of free meeting and 
free speech. ” 

Even as he spoke, the two regiments formed, stiffened, 
fixed bayonets, and moved forward, as if they were 
machines rather than two thousand men. 

“Brethren,” yelled Podds, “ the foot of the tyrant is on 
us. Rise. Rise in your might.” Then Podds turned to 
find the rigid line of bayonets close upon him. He gave 
a spring, and grappled with Peter, throwing his arms about 
Peter’s neck. Peter caught him by the throat with his 
free arm. 

“Don’t push me off,” shrieked Podds in his ear, “it’s 
coming,” and he clung with desperate energy to Peter. 

Peter gave a twist with his arm. He felt the tight clasp 
relax, and the whole figure shudder. He braced his arm 
for a push, intending to send Podds flying across the 
street 

But suddenly there was a flash, as of lightning. Then 
a crash. Then the earth shook, cobble-stones, railroad 
tracks, anarchists, and soldiers, rose in the air, leaving a 
great chasm in crowd and street. Into that chasm a mo- 
ment later, stones, rails, anarchists, and soldiers fell, leav- 
ing nothing but a thick cloud of overhanging dust. 
Underneath that great dun pall lay soldier and anarchist, 
side by side, at last at peace. The one died for his duty, 
the other died for his idea. The world was none the 
better, but went on unchanged. 


CHAPTER LVII. 

HAPPINESS. 

The evening on which Peter had left Grey-Court, Leo 
nore had been moved “for sundry reasons” to go to her 
piano and sing an English ballad entitled “ Happiness.” 
She had sung it several times, and with gusto. 

The next morning she read the political part of the pa- 
pers. “I don’t see anything to have taken him back,” 
she said, “but I am really glad, for he was getting hard 
to manage. I couldn’t send him away, but now I hope 


HAPPINESS. 


3 «) 

he’ll stay there. ” Then Leonore fluttered all day, in the 
true Newport style, with no apparent thought of her 
“ friend. ” 

But something at a dinner that evening interested her. 

“I’m ashamed,” said the hostess, “of my shortage of 
men. Marlow was summoned back to New York last 
night, by business, quite unexpectedly, and Mr. Dupont 
telegraphed me this afternoon that he was detained there.” 

u It’s curious,” said Dorothy. “ Mr. Rivington and my 
brother came on Tuesday expecting to stay for a week, 
but they had special delivery letters yesterday, and both 
started for New York. They would not tell me what it 
was. ” 

“Mr. Stirling received a special delivery, too,” said Leo- 
nore, “and started at once. And he wouldn’t tell.” 

“ How extraordinary ! ” said the hostess. “ There must 
be something very good at the roof-gardens.” 

“It has something to do with headwears,” said Leo- 
nore, not hiding her light under a bushel. 

“ Headwear?” said a man. 

“Yes,” said Leonore. “I only had a glimpse of the 
heading, but I saw “ Headwears N. G. S. N. Y.” 

A sudden silence fell, no one laughing at the mistake. 

“ What’s the matter? ” asked Leonore. 

“We are wondering what will happen,” said the host, 
“ if men go in for headwear too.” 

“They do that already,” said a man, “but unlike 
women, they do it on the inside, not the outside of the 
head.” 

But nobody laughed, and the dinner seemed to drag 
from that moment. 

Leonore and Dorothy had come together, and as soon 
as they were in their carriage, Leonore said, “ What a dull 
dinner it was ? ” 

“Oh, Leonore,” cried Dorothy, “don’t talk about din- 
ners. I’ve kept up till now, bu ” and Dorothy’s sen- 

tence melted into a sob. 

“ Is it home, Mrs. Rivington ? ” asked the tiger, sublimely 
unconscious, as a good servant should be, of this dia- 
logue, and of his mistress’s tears. 

“ No, Portman, the Club,” sobbed Dorothy. 

“Dorothy,” begged Leonore, “ what is it? ” 

“Don’t you understand? ” sobbed Dorothy. “All this 


368 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

fearful anarchist talk and discontent ? And my poor, pool 
darling 1 Oh, don’t talk to me. ” Dorothy became inar- 
ticulate once more. 

“How foolish married women are I” thought Leonore, 
even while putting her arm around Dorothy, and trying 
blindly to comfort her. 

“Is it a message, Mrs. Rivington?” asked the man, 
opening the carriage-door. 

“ Ask for Mr. Melton, or Mr. Duer, and say Mrs. Riving- 
ton wishes to see one of them.” Dorothy dried her eyes, 
and braced up. Before Leonore had time to demand an 
explanation, Peter’s gentlemanly scoundrel was at the 
door. 

“ What is it, Mrs. Rivington ? ” he asked. 

“ Mr. Duer, is there any bad news from New York? ” 

“Yes. A great strike on the Central is on, and the 
troops have been called in to keep order. ” 

“Is that all the news ? ” asked Dorothy. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you,” said Dorothy. “ Home, Portman.” 

The two women were absolutely silent during the 
drive. But they kissed each other in parting, not with the 
peck which women so often give each other, but with 
a true kiss. And when Leonore, in crossing the porch, 
encountered the mastiff which Peter had given her, she 
stopped and kissed him too, very tenderly. What is more, 
she brought him inside, which was against the rules, and 
put him down before the fire. Then she told the foot- 
man to bring her the evening-papers, and sitting down on 
the rug by B£tise, proceeded to search them, not now for 
the political outlook, but for the labor troubles. Leonore 
suddenly awoke to the fact that there were such things as 
commercial depressions and unemployed. She read it all 
with the utmost care. She read the outpourings of the 
Anarchists, in a combination of indignation, amazement 
and fear. “ I never dreamed there could be such fearful 
wretches ! ” she said. There was one man — a fellow 
named Podds — whom the paper reported as shrieking in 
Union Square to a select audience : 

"‘Rise! Wipe from the face of the earth the money power! Kill 1 
Kill ! Only by blood atonement can we lead the way to better things. 
To a universal brotherhood of love. Down with rich men 1 Down 
with their paid hirelings, the troops 1 Blow them in pieces l ” 


HAPPINESS. 


369 

“Oh!” cried Leonore shuddering. “It's fearful. 1 
wish some one would blow you in pieces ! ” Thereby was 
she proving herself not unlike Podds. All humanity have 
something of the Anarchist in them. Then Leonore 
turned to the mastiff and told him some things. Of how 
bad the strikers were, and how terrible were the Anarch- 
ists. “Yes, dear,” she said, “I wish we had them here, 
and then you could trea them as they deserve, wouldn’t 
you, Betise ? I’m so glad he has my luck-piece 1 ” 

A moment later her father and another man came into 
the hall from the street, compelling Leonore to assume a 
more proper attitude. 

“ Hello, Dot ! ” said Watts. “Still up ? Vaughan and I 
are going to have a game of billiards. Won’t you score 
for us ? ” 

“Yes,” said Leonore. 

“ Bad news from New York, isn’t it ? ” said Vaughan, 
nonchalantly, as he stood back after his first play. 

Leonore saw her father make a grimace at Vaughan, 
which Vaughan did not see. She said, “ What ? ” 

“ I missed,” said Watts. “ Your turn, Will.” 

“Tell me the news before you shoot?” said Leonore. 

“The collision of the strikers and the troops.” 

“Was any one hurt?” asked Leonore, calmly scoring 
two to her father’s credit. 

“Yes. Eleven soldiers and twenty-two strikers.” 

“What regiment was it ? ” asked Leonore. 

“Colonel Stirling’s,” said Vaughan, making a brilliant 
masse. “ Fortunately it’s a Mick regiment, so we needn’t 
worry over who was killed.” 

Leonore thought to herself : “You are as bad every bit 
as Podds ! ” Aloud she said, “ Did it say who were 
killed ? ” 

“No. The dispatch only said fourteen dead.” 

“That was a beautiful shot,” said Leonore. “You 
ought to run the game out with that position. I think, 
papa, that I’ll go to bed. I find I’m a little tired. Good- 
night, Mr. Vaughan.” Leonore went upstairs, slowly, 
deep in thought. She did not ring for her maid. On the 
contrary she lay down on her bed in her dinner-gown, to 
its everlasting detriment. “I know he isn’t hurt,” she 
said, “because I should feel it. But 1 wish the telegram 
had said. ” She hardly believed herself, apparently, foi 


37 ° 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


she buried her head in the pillow, and began to sob 
quietly. “If I only had said good-bye,” she moaned. 

Early the next morning Watts found Leonore in the 
hall. 

“How pale my Dot is ! ” he exclaimed. 

“ I didn’t sleep well,” said Leonore. 

“ Aren’t you going to ride with me? ” 

“No. I don’t feel like it this morning,” said Leonore. 

As Watts left the hall, a servant entered it. 

“I had to wait, Miss D’Alloi,” he said. “ No papers are 
for sale till eight o’clock. ” 

Leonore took the newspaper silently and went to the 
library. Then she opened it and looked at the first column. 
She read it hurriedly. 

“I knew he wasn’t hurt,” she said, “because I would 
have felt it, and because he had my luck piece.” Then 
she stepped out of one of the-windows, called Betise to her, 
and putting her arms about his neck, kissed him. 

When the New York papers came things were even 
better, for they recorded the end of the strike. Leonore 
even laughed over that big, big D. “I can’t imagine 
him getting so angry,” she said. “ He must have a tem- 
per, after all. ” She sang a little, as she fixed the flowers 
in the vases, and one of the songs was “Happiness.” 
Nor did she snub a man who hinted at afternoon tea, as 
she had a poor unfortunate who suggested tennis earlier 
in the day. 

While they were sipping their tea, however, Watts came 
in from the club. 

“ Helen,” he said, going to the bay window farthest 
from the tea-table, “come here. I want to say some- 
thing. ” 

They whispered for a moment, and then Mrs. D’Allo>. 
came back to her tea. 

“Won’t you have a cup, papa? ” asked Leonore. 

“Not to-day, dear,” said Watts, with an unusual ten* 
derness in his voice. 

Leonore was raising a spoon to her mouth, but suddenly 
her hand trembled a little. After a glance at her father and 
mother, she pushed her tea-cup into the centre of the 
table as if she had finished it, though it had just been poured. 
Then she turned and began to talk and laugh with the 
caller. 


HAPPINESS 1 


37 * 

But the moment the visitor was out of the room, Leo 
nore said : 

“What is it, papa ? ” 

Watts was standing by the fire. He hesitated. Then 
he groaned. Then he went to the door. “Ask your 
mother,” he said, and went out of the room. 

“ Mamma ? ” said Leonore. 

“Don’t excite yourself, dear,” said her mother. “Ill 
tell you to-morrow.” 

Leonore was on her feet. “ No,” she said huskily, 
“ tell me now.” 

“Wait till we’ve had dinner.” 

“Mamma,” cried Leonore, appealingly, “don’t you see 
that — that — that I suffer more by not knowing it ? Tell 
me. ” 

“Oh, Leonore,” cried her mother, “don’t look that 
Way. I’ll tell you ; but don’t look that way ! ” 

“What?” 

Mrs. D’Alloi put her arms about Leonore. “'The Anar- 
chists have exploded a bomb.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Leonore. 

“And it killed a great many of the soldiers.” 

“ Not ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you, mamma,” said Leonore. She unclasped 
her mother’s arms, and went towards the door. 

‘ 4 Leonore,” cried her mother, * ‘ stay here with me, dear. ” 

“I’d rather be alone,” said Leonore, quietly. She went 
upstairs to her room and sank down by an ottoman which 
stood in the middle of the floor. She sat silent and 
motionless, for over an hour, looking straight before her 
at nothing, as Peter had so often done. Is it harder to lose 
out of life the man or woman whom one loves, or to see 
him or her happy in the love of another. Is the hopeless- 
ness of the impossible less or greater than the hopeless- 
ness of the unattainable ? 

Finally Leonore rose, and touched her bell. When her 
maid came she said, “ Get me my travelling dress.” Ten 
minutes later she came into the library, saying to Watts. 

“ Papa, I want you to take me to New York, by the first 
train.” 

“Are you crazy, my darling ?” cried Watts. “With 
riots and Anarchists all over the city.” 


37 2 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


“I must go to New York,” said Leonore. “If you 
won’t take me, I’ll go with madame.” 

“ Not for a moment ” began Watts. 

“ Papa,” cried Leonore, “ don’t you see it’s killing me ? 
I can’t bear it ” and Leonore stopped. 

“Yes, Watts, we must,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. 

Two hours later they were all three rolling towards New 
York. It was a five hours’ ride, but Leonore sat the whole 
distance without speaking, or showing any consciousness 
of her surroundings. For every turn of those wheels 
seemed to fall into a rhythmic repetition of : “ If I had 
only said ‘good-bye.’” 

The train was late in arriving, and Watts tried to induce 
Leonore to go to a hotel for the night. She only said 
“No. Take me to him,” but it was in a voice which 
Watts could not disregard. So after a few questions at 
the terminal, which produced no satisfactory informa- 
tion, Watts told the cabman to drive to the City Hall 
Park. 

They did not reach it, however, for at the corner of 
Centre Street and Chambers, there came a cry of “halt,” 
and the cab had to stop. 

“You can’t pass this line,” said the sentry. “You 
must go round by Broadway.” 

“Why ? ” asked Watts. 

“ The street is impassable.” 

Watts got out, and held a whispered dialogue with the 
sentry. This resulted in the summoning of the officer of 
the watch. In the mean time Leonore descended and 
joined them. Watts turned and said to her : “ The sentry 
says he’s here.” 

Presently an officer came up. 

“An’ what do the likes av yez want at this time av 
night ? ” he inquired crossly. “ Go away wid yez. ” 

“Oh, Captain Moriarty,” said Leonore, “won’t you 
let me see him? I’m Miss D’Alloi.” 

“Shure,” said Dennis, “yez oughtn’t to be afther dis- 
turbin’ him. It’s two nights he’s had no sleep. ” 

Leonore suddenly put her hand on Dennis’s arm. 
“He’s not killed?” she whispered, as if she could not 
breathe, and the figure swayed a little. 

“ Divil a bit! They got it wrong entirely. It was 
that dirty spalpeen av a Podds.” 


HAPPINESS. 


373 

“ Are you sure ? ” said Leonore, pleadingly. “ You are 
not deceiving me ? ” 

“Begobs,” said Dennis, “ do yez think Oi could stand 
here wid a dry eye if he was dead ? ” 

Leonore put her head on Dennis’s shoulder, and began 
to sob softly. For a moment Dennis looked aghast at 
the results of his speech, but suddenly his face changed, 
‘Shure,” he whispered, “we all love him just like that, 
an that’s why the Blessed Virgin saved him for us.” 

Then Leonore, with tears in her eyes, said, “ I felt it,” 
in the most joyful of voices. A voice that had a whole 
Te Deum in it. 

“Won’t you let me see him? ” she begged. “ I won ? t 
wake him, I promise you.” 

“That yez shall,” said Dennis. “Will yez take my 
arm? ” The four passed within the lines. “Step care- 
ful,” he continued. “ There’s pavin’ stones, and rails, and 
plate-glass every wheres. It looks like there’d been a 
primary itself. ” 

All thought that was the best of jokes and laughed. 
They passed round a great chasm in the street and side- 
walk. Then they came to long rows of bodies stretched 
on the grass, or rather what was left of the grass, in the 
Park. Leonore shuddered. “Are they all dead?” she 
whispered. “Dead! Shurely not. It’s the regiment 
sleepin’,” she was told. They passed between these rows 
fora little distance. “This is him,” said Dennis, “sleep- 
in’ like a babby.” Dennis turned his back and began to 
describe the explosion to Mrs. D’Alloi and Watts. 

There, half covered with a blanket, wrapped in a regu- 
lation great coat, his head pillowed on a roll of news- 
papers, lay Peter. Leonore knelt down on the ground 
beside him, regardless of the proprieties or the damp. She 
listened to hear if he was breathing, and when she found 
that he actually was, her face had on it a little thanks- 
giving proclamation of its own. Then with the prettiest 
of motherly manners, she softly pulled the blanket up and 
tucked it in about his arms. Then she looked to see if 
there was not something else to do. But there was noth- 
ing. So she made more. “The poor dear oughtn’t to 
sleep without something on his head. He’ll take cold.” 
She took her handkerchief and tried to fix it so that it 
should protect Peter’s head. She tried four different ways* 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


SI* 

any one of which would have served ; but each time she 
thought of a better way, and had to try once more. She 
probably would have thought of a fifth, if Peter had not 
suddenly opened his eyes. 

“Oh!” said Leonore, “what a shame? I’ve waked 
you up. And just as I had fixed it right.” 

Peter studied the situation calmly, without moving a 
muscle. He looked at the kneeling figure for some time. 
Then he looked up at the arc light a little distance away. 
Then he looked at the City Hall clock. Then his eyes 
came back to Leonore. “ Peter,” he said finally, “this 
is getting to be a monomania. You must stop it.” 

“ What? ” said Leonore, laughing at his manner as if it 
was intended as a joke. 

Peter put out his hand and touched Leonore’s dress. 
Then he rose quickly to his feet. “ What is the matter? ” 
he asked. 

“Hello,” cried Watts. “Have you come to? Well. 
Here we are, you see. All the way from Newport to see 
you in fragments, only to be disappointed. Shake ! ” 

Peter said nothing for a moment. But after he had 
shaken hands, he said, “ It’s very good of you to have 
thought of me.” 

“Oh,” explained Leonore promptly, “Pm always 
anxious about my friends. Mamma will tell you I am.” 

Peter turned to Leonore, who had retired behind her 
mother. “ Such friends are worth having,” he said, with 
a strong emphasis on “friends.” 

Then Leonore came out from behind her mother. 
“How nice he’s stupid,” she thought. “He is Pete** 
Simple, after all.” 

“Well,” said Watts, “your friends are nearly dying 
with hunger and want of sleep, so the best thing we can 
do, since we needn’t hunt for you in scraps, is to go to 
the nearest hotel. Where is that ? ” 

“You’ll have to go uptown,” said Peter. “Nothing 
down here is open at this time.” 

“Pm not sleepy,” said Leonore, “but I am so hun- 

gry ! ” 

“ Serves you right for eating no din ” Watts started 

to say, but Leonore interjected, in an unusually loud 
voice. “ Can’t you get us something ? ” 

“Nothing that will do for you, Pm afraid,” said Peter. 


HAPPINESS, 


37 $ 

“I had Dennett send up one of his coffee-boilers so that 
the men should have hot coffee through the night, and 
there’s a sausage-roll man close to him who’s doing a big 
business. But they’ll hardly serve your purpose.” 

“ The very thing,” cried Watts. “What a lark I ” 

“I can eat anything,” said Leonore. 

So they went over to the stands. Peter’s blanket was 
spread on the sidewalk, and three Newport swells, and 
the Democratic nominee for governor sat upon it, with 
their feet in the gutter, and drank half-bean coffee and ate 
hot sausage rolls, made all the hotter by the undue amount 
of mustard which the cook would put in. What is worse, 
they enjoyed it as much as if it was the finest of dinners. 
Would not society have been scandalized had it known 
of their doings ? 

How true it is that happiness is in a mood rather than 
in a moment. How eagerly we prepare for and pursue 
the fickle sprite, only to find our preparations and chase 
giving nothing but dullness, fatigue, and ennui. But then 
how often without exertion or warning, the sprite is upon 
us, and tinges the whole atmosphere. So it was at this 
moment, with two of the four. The coffee might have 
been all beans, and yet it would have been better than 
the best served in Viennese cafes. The rolls might have 
had even a more weepy amount of mustard, and yet the 
burning and the tears would only have been the more of 
a joke. The sun came up, as they ate, talked and laughed, 
touching everything about them with gold, but it might 
have poured torrents, and the two would have been as 
happy. 

For Leonore was singing to herself: “ He isn’t dead. 
He isn’t dead.” 

And Peter was thinking: “She loves me. She musf 
love me.” 


376 THE HONORABLE FETER STIRLING. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

GIFTS. 

After the rolls and coffee had been finished, Peter walked 
with his friends to their cab. It had all been arranged 
that they were to go to Peter’s quarters, and get some 
sleep. These were less than eight blocks away, but the 
parting was very terrific ! However, it had to be done, 
and so it was gone through with. Hard as it was, Peter 
had presence of mind enough to say, through the carriage 
window. 

“ You had better take my room, Miss D'Alloi, for the 
spare room is the largest. I give you the absolute free- 
dom of it, minus the gold-box. Use anything you find. ” 

Then Peter went back to the chaotic street and the now 
breakfasting regiment, feeling that strikes, anarchists, and 
dynamite were only minor circumstances in life. 

About noon Leonore came back to life, and succeeded 
in making a very bewitching toilet despite the absence 
of her maid. Whether she peeped into any drawers or 
other places, is left to feminine readers to decide. If she 
did, she certainly had ample authority from Peter. 

This done she went into the study, and, after sticking 
her nose into some of the window flowers, she started to 
go to the bookshelves. As she walked her foot struck 
something which rang with a metallic sound, as it moved 
on the wood floor. The next moment, a man started 
out of a deep chair. 

“Oh ! ” was all Leonore said. 

“I hope I didn’t startle you. You must have kicked 
my sword.” 

“ I — I didn’t know you were here ! ” Leonore eyed the 
door leading to the hall, as if she were planning for a sud- 
den flight. 

“The regiment was relieved by another from Albany 
this morning. So I came up here for a little sleep. ” 

“ What a shame that I should have kept you out of 
your room, ” said Leonore, still eyeing the door. From 


GIFTS. 


377 

fcoonore’s appearance, one would have supposed that she 
had purloined something of value from his quarters, and 
was meditating a sudden dash of escape with it. 

“I don’t look at it in that light,” said Peter. “But 
since you’ve finished with the room for the moment, I’ll 
borrow the use temporarily. Strikers and anarchists care 
so little for soap and water themselves, that they show 
no consideration to other people for those articles.” Peter 
passed through the doorway towards which Leonore had 
glanced. Then Leonore’s anxious look left her, and she 
no longer looked at the door. One would almost have 
inferred that Leonore was afraid of Peter, but that is 
absurd, since they were such good friends, since Leonore 
had come all the way from Newport to see him, and since 
Leonore had decided that Peter must do as she pleased. 

Yet, curiously enough, when Peter returned in about 
twenty minutes, the same look came into Leonore’s face. 

“ We shall have something to eat in ten minutes,” 
Peter said, “ for I hear vour father and mother moving.” 

Leonore looked towards the door. She did not intend 
that Peter should see her do it, but he did. 

“Now what shall we do or talk about?” he said. 
“ You know I am host and mustn’t do anything my guests 
don’t wish.” 

Peter said this in the most matter-of-fact way, but Leo- 
nore, after a look from under her eyelashes at him, 
stopped thinking about the door. She went over to one of 
the window-seats. 

“Come and sit hereby me,” she said, “and tell me 
everything about it.” 

So Peter described “the war, and what they fought 
each other for, ” as well as he was able, for, despite his in- 
tentions, his mind would wander as those eyes looked 
into his. 

“I am glad that Podds was blown to pieces 1 ” said 
Leonore. 

“ Don’t say that” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s one of those cases of a man of really 
good intentions, merely gone wrong. He was a horse- 
car driver, who got inflammatory rheumatism by the expo- 
sure, and was discharged. He suffered fearful pain, 
and saw his family suffer for bread. He grew bitter, 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


378 

and took up with these wild theories, not having enough 
original brain force, or education, to see their folly. 
He believed firmly in them. So firmly, that when I 
tried to reason him out of them many years ago he came 
to despise me and ordered me out of his rooms. I had 
once done him a service, and felt angered at what I 
thought ungrateful conduct, so I made no attempt to keep 
up the friendliness. He knew yesterday that dynamite 
was in the hands of some of those men, and tried to 
warn me away. When I refused to go, he threw himself 
upon me, to protect me from the explosion. Nothing else 
saved my life.” 

“Peter, will your regiment have to do anything 
more ? ” 

“I don’t think so. The dynamite has caused a reac- 
tion, and has driven off the soberer part of the mob. The 
pendulum, when it swings too far, always swings corre- 
spondingly far the other way. I must stay here for a 
couple of days, but then if I’m asked, I’ll go back to New- 
port. ” 

“ Papa and mamma want you, I’m sure,” said Leonore, 
glancing at the door again, after an entire forgetfulness. 

“Then I shall go,” said Peter, though longing to say 
something else. 

Leonore looked at him and said in the frankest way : 
“And I want you too. ” That was the way she paid Peter 
for his forbearance. 

Then they all went up on the roof, where in one corner 
there were pots of flowers about a little table, over which 
was spread an awning. Over that table, too, Jenifer had 
spread himself. Hovr good that breakfast was ! What a 
glorious September day it was ! How beautiful the view 
of the city and the bay was ! It was all so thoroughly 
satisfactory, that the three nearly missed the “limited.” 
Of course Peter went to the station with them, and, short 
as was the time, he succeeded in obtaining for one of the 
party, “all the comic papers,” “the latest novel,” a small 
basket of fruit, and a bunch of flowers, not one of which, 
with the exception of the latter, the real object of these 
attentions wanted in the least. 

Just here it is of value to record an interesting scientific 
discovery of Leonore’s, because women so rarely have 
made them. It was, that the distance from New York to 


GIFTS : 


37 * 

Newport is very much less than the distance from New- 
port to New York. 

Curiously enough, two days later, his journey seemed 
to Peter the longest railroad ride he had ever taken. 
“ His friend” did not meet him this time. His friend felt 
that her trip to New York must be offset before she could 
resume her proper self-respect. “ He was very nice,” she 
had said, in monologue, “about putting the trip down to 
friendship. And he was very nice that morning in his 
study. But I think his very niceness is suspicious, and so 
I must be hard on him ! ” A woman’s reasoning is apt 
to seem defective, yet sometimes it solves problems not 
otherwise answerable. 

Leonore found her “hard” policy harder than she 
thought for. She told Peter the first evening that she was 
going to a card-party. “ I can’t take you,” she said. 

“I shall be all the better for a long night’s sleep,” said 
Peter, calmly. 

This was bad enough, but the next morning, as she was 
arranging the flowers, she remarked to some one who stood 
and watched her, “Miss Winthrop is engaged. How 
foolish of a girl in her first season ! Before she’s had any 
fun, to settle down to dull married life.” 

She had a rose in her hand, prepared to revive Peter 
with it, in case her speech was too much for one dose, but 
when she glanced at him, he was smiling happily. 

“What is it ? ” asked Leonore, disapprovingly. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Peter. “I wasn’t listening. 
Did you say Miss Winthrop was married ? ” 

“ What were you smiling over?” said Leonore, in the 
same voice. 

* ‘ I was thinking of — of . ” Then Peter hesitated and 

Jaughed. 

“Of what ? ” asked Leonore. 

“You really mustn’t ask me,” laughed Peter. 

“Of what were you thinking?” 

“ Of eyelashes,” confessed Peter. 

“It’s terrible ! ” cogitated Leonore, “ I can’t snub him 
any more, try as I may.” 

In truth, Peter was not worrying any longer over what 
Leonore said or did to him. He was merely enjoying her 
companionship. He was at once absolutely happy, and 
absolutely miserable. Happy in his hope. Miserable in 


380 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

its non-certainty. To make a paradox, he was confided 
that she loved him, yet he was not sure. A man will b* 
absolutely confident that a certain horse will win a race, 
or he will be certain that a profit will accrue from a given 
business transaction. Yet, until the horse has won, or the 
profit is actually made, he is not assured. So it was 
with Peter. He thought that he had but to speak, yet 
dared not do it. The present was so certain, and the future 
might have such agonies. So for two days he merely 
followed Leonore about, enjoying her pretty ways and 
hardly heeding her snubs and petulance. He was very 
silent, and often abstracted, but his silence and abstrac- 
tion brought no relief to Leonore, and only frightened her 
the more, for he hardly let her out of his sight, and the 
silent devotion and tenderness were so obvious that 
Leonore felt how absolutely absurd was her pretence of 
unconsciousness. In his very “ Miss D’Alloi ” now, there 
was a tone in his voice and a look in his face which really 
said the words : “My darling.” Leonore thought this was 
a mean trick, of apparently sustaining the conventions of 
society, while in reality outraging them horribly, but she 
was helpless to better his conduct. Twice unwittingly he 
even called her “ Leonore ” (as he had to himself for two 
months), thereby terribly disconcerting the owner of that 
name. She wanted to catch him up and snub him 
each time, but she was losing her courage. She knew 
that she was walking on a mine, and could not tell what 
chance word or deed of hers would bring an explosion. 
“ And then what can I say to him ? ” she asked. 

What she said was this : 

Peter came downstairs the third evening of his stay 
“armed and equipped as the law directs” for a cotillion. 
In the large hallway, he found Leonore, likewise in gala 
dress, resting her hand on the tall mantel of the hall, and 
looking down at the fire. Peter stopped on the landing to 
enjoy that pose. He went over every detail with deliber- 
ation. But girl, gown, and things in general, were much 
too tempting to make this distant glimpse over lengthy. 
So he descended to get a closer view. The pose said noth- 
ing, and Peter strolled to the fire, and did likewise. But 
if he did not speak he more than made up for his silence 
with his eyes. 

Finally the pose said, “ I suppose it’s time we started ? * 


GIFTS. 381 

“Some one's got to speak,” the pose had decided. Evi- 
dently the pose felt uneasy under that silent gaze. 

“It's only a little past ten,” said Peter, who was quite 
satisfied with the status quo. 

Then silence came again. After this had held for a few 
moments, the pose said : “ Do say something ! ” 

“Something,” said Peter. “ Anything else I can do for 
you ? ” 

“Unless you can be more entertaining, we might as 
well be sitting in the Purdies’ dressing-rooms, as standing 
here. Suppose we go to the library and sit with mamma 
and papa? ” Clearly the pose felt nervous. 

Peter did not like this idea. So he said : “ I’ll try to 
amuse you. Let me tell you something very interesting 
to me. It’s my birthday to-morrow.” 

“Oh!” said Leonore. “Why didn’t you tell me 
sooner? Then I would have had a gift for you.” 

“That’s what I was afraid of.” 

“ Don’t you want me to give you something? ” 

“Yes.” Then Peter’s hands trembled, and he seemed 
to have hard work in adding, “I want you to give me — 
a kiss. ” 

“Peter ! ” said Leonore, drawing back grieved and in- 
dignant. “I didn’t think you would speak to me so. 
Of all men ! ” 

“You mustn’t think, ” said Peter, “that I meant to pain 
you. ” 

“You have,” said Leonore, almost ready to cry. 

“Because,” said Peter, “that isn’t what I meant.” 
Peter obviously struggled to find words to say what he 
did mean as he had never struggled over the knottiest of 
legal points, or the hardest of wrestling matches. “If I 
thought you were a girl who would kiss a man for the 
asking, I should not care for a kiss from you.” Peter 
strayed away from the fire uneasily. “But I know you 
are not.” Peter gazed wildly round, as if the furnishings 
of the hall might suggest the words for which he was 
blindly groping. But they didn’t, and after one or two 
half-begun sentences, he continued: “ I haven’t watched 
you, and dreamed about you. and loved you, for all this 
time, without learning what you are.” Peter roamed 
about the great hall restlessly. * ‘ I know that your lips will 
never give what your heart doesn’t.” Then his face took 


382 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

a despairing look, and he continued quite rapidly : “I i ik 
without much hope. You are so lovely, while I — well J/m 
not a man women care for. I’ve tried to please you. 
Tried to please you so hard, that I may have deceived 
you. I probably am what women say of me. But if I've 
been otherwise with you it is because you are different 
from any other woman in the world.” Here the sudden 
flow of words ended, and Peter paced up and down, trying 
to find what to say. If any one had seen Peter as he 
paced, without his present environment, he would have 
thought him a man meditating suicide. Suddenly his 
voice and face became less wild, and he said tenderly : 
“There is no use in my telling you how I love you. 
You know it now, or will never learn it from anything I 
can say.” Peter strode back to the fire. “It is my love 
which asks for a kiss. And I want it for the love you 
will give with it, if you can give it.” 

Leonore had apparently kept her eyes on the blazing 
logs during the whole of this monologue. But she must 
have seen something of Peter’s uneasy wanderings about 
the room, for she had said to herself: “Poor dear! He 
must be fearfully in earnest. I never knew him so rest- 
less. He prowls just like a wild animal.” 

A moment’s silence came after Peter’s return to the fire. 
Then he said: “Will you give it to me, Miss D’Alloi ?” 
But his voice in truth, made the words, “Give me what I 
ask, my darling.” 

“ Yes,” said Leonore softly. “ On your birthday.” 
Then Leonore shrank back a little, as if afraid that her 
gift would be sought sooner. No young girl, however 
much she loves a man, is quite ready for that first kiss. 
A man’s lips upon her own are too contrary to her instinct 
and previous training to make them an unalloyed pleasure. 
The girl who is over-ready for her lover’s first kiss, has 
tasted the forbidden fruit already, or has waited over-long 
for it. 

Peter saw the little shrinking and understood it. What 
was more, he heeded it as many men would not have done. 
Perhaps there was something selfish in his self-denial, for 
the purity and girlishness which it indicated were very 
dear to him, and he hated to lessen them by anything he 
did. He stood quietly by her, and merely said, ‘ * I needn’t 
tell you how happy I am ! ” 


GIFTS. 


3*3 

Leonore looked up into Peter’s face. If Leonore had 
seen there any lack of desire to take her in his arms and 
kiss her, she would never have forgiven him. But since 
his face showed beyond doubt that he was longing to do 
it, Leonore loved him all the better for his repression of 
self, out of regard for her. She slipped her little hand into 
Peter’s confidingly, and said, “So am I.” It means a 
good deal when a girl does not wish to run away 
from her lover the moment after she has confessed her 
love. 

So they stood for some time, Leonore looking down into 
the fire, and Peter looking down at Leonore. 

Finally Peter said, “ Will you do me a great favor? ” 

“No,” said Leonore, “ I’ve done enough for one night 
But you can tell me what it is.” 

“ Will you look up at me ? ” 

“ What for? ” said Leonore, promptly looking up. 

“ I want to see your eyes,” said Peter. 

“ Why ? ” asked Leonore, promptly looking down again. 

“Well,” said Peter, “I’ve been dreaming all my life 
about some eyes, and I want to see what my dream is 
like in reality.” 

“That’s a very funny request, ” said Leonore perversely. 
“You ought to have found out about them long ago. 
The idea of any one falling in love, without knowing about 
the eyes ! ” 

“But you show your eyes so little,” said Peter. “I’ve 
never had a thoroughly satisfying look at them.” 

“You look at them every time I look at you,” said 
Leonore. “Sometimes it was very embarrassing. Just 
supposing that I showed them to you now, and that you 
find they aren’t what you like ? ” 

“I never waste time discussing impossibilities/* said 
Peter. “ Are you going to let me see them ? ” 

“ How long will it take? ” 

“I can tell better after I’ve seen them,” said Peter, 
astutely. 

“I don’t think I have time this evening/’ said Leonore, 
still perversely, though smiling a look of contentment 
down into the fire. 

Peter said nothing for a moment, wishing to give 
Leonore’s conscience a chance to begin to prick. Then he 
ended the silence by saying: “ If I had anything that 


384 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

would give you pleasure, I wouldn’t make you ask for it 
twice. ” 

“That’s — different,” said Leonore. “Still, I’ll — well, 
look at them,” and Leonore lifted her eyes to Peter’s half 
laughingly and half timidly. 

Peter studied those eyes in silence — studied them till 
Leonore, who did not find that steady look altogether easy 
to bear, and yet was not willing to confess herself stared 
out of countenance, asked : “ Do you like them ? ” 

1 “ Yes,” said Peter. 

“ Is that all you can say ? Other people have said 
very complimentary things ! ” said Leonore, pretending to 
be grieved over the monosyllable, yet in reality delighting 
in its expressiveness as Peter said it. 

“ I think,” said Peter, “that before I can tell you what 
I think of your eyes, we shall have to invent some new 
words. ” 

Leonore looked down again into the fire, smiling a satis- 
fied smile. Peter looked down at that down-turned head, 
also with a satisfied smile. Then there was another long 
silence. Incidentally it is to be noted that Peter still held 
the hand given him some time before. To use a poker 
term, Peter was standing “pat,” and wished no change. 
Once or twice the little hand had hinted that it had been 
held long enough, but Peter did not think so, and the hand 
had concluded that it was safest to let well alone. If it 
was too cruel it might rouse the sleeping lion which the 
owner of that hand knew to exist behind that firm, 
quiet face. 

Presently Peter put his unoccupied hand in his breast- 
pocket, and produced a small sachet. “ I did something 
twice,” he said, “that I have felt very meaniy about at 
times. Perhaps you’ll forgive me now ? ” He took from 
the sachet, a glove, and a small pocket-handkerchief, and 
without a word showed them to Leonore. 

Leonore looked at them. “That’s the glove I lost at 
Mrs. Costell’s, isn’t it ? ” she asked gravely. 

Peter nodded his head. 

“And is that the handkerchief which disappeared in 
your rooms, at your second dinner? ” 

Peter nodded his head. 

“ And both times you helped me hunt for them ? ” 

Peter nodded his head. He at last knew how prisoners 
felt when he was cross-examining: them. 


GIFTS. 


3*5 

“I knew you had them all the time,” said Leon®re 
laughing. “ It was dreadfully funny to see you pretend 
to hunt, when the guilty look on your own face was 
enough to show you had them. That’s why I was so 
determined to find them.” 

Peter knew how prisoners felt when the jury says, “ Not 
guilty. ” 

4 ‘But how did the holes come in them ? ” said Leonore. 
“Do you have mice in your room?” Leonore suddenly 
looked as worried as had Peter the moment before. 

Peter put his hand in the sachet, and produced a bent 
coin. “ Look at that,” he said. 

“ Why, it’s my luck-piece ! ” exclaimed Leonore. “ And 
you’ve spoiled that too. What a careless boy ! ” 

“ No,” said Peter. “ They are not spoiled to me. Do 
you know what cut these holes and bent this coin ?” 

“ What ? ” 

“A bullet.” 

“ Peter l ” 

“Yes. Your luck-piece stopped it, or I shouldn't be 
here.” 

“There,” said Leonore triumphantly, “ I said you weren’t 
hurt, when the news of the shooting came, because I 
knew you had it. I was so glad you had taken it ! ” 

“ I am going to give it back to you by and by,” said 
Peter. 

“ I had rather that you should have it,” said Leo if ore. 
“ I want you to have my luck.” 

“I shall have it just the same even after I’ve given it 
to you,” said Peter. 

“ How?” 

“I’m going to have it made into a plain gold ring,” 
replied Peter, “ and when I give it to you, I shall have all 
your luck.” 

Then came a silence. 

Finally Peter said, “Will you please tell me what you 
meant by talking about five years ! ” 

' “Oh ! Really, Peter,” Leonore hastened to explain, in 
an anxious way, as if Peter had charged her with murder 
or some other heinous crime. “ I did think so. I didn’t 
find it out till — till that night. Really I Won’t you be- 
lieve me ? ” 

Peter smiled. He could have believed anything. 

*5 


386 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING, 

“Now’/* he said, “I know at last what Anarchists 
are for. ” 

His ready acceptance of her statement made Leonore 
feel a slight prick of conscience. She said: “Well — 

peter I mean — -that is — at least, I did sometimes think 

before then — that when I married, I'd marry you — but 
I didn’t think it would come so soon. Did you? I 
thought we’d wait. It would have been so much more 
sensible ! ” 

“ I’ve waited a long time,” said Peter. 

“Poor dear!” said Leonore, putting her other hand 
over Peter’s, which held hers. 

Peter enjoyed this exquisite pleasure in silence for a 
time, but the enjoyment was too great not to be ex- 
pressed. So he said : 

“I like your hands almost as much as your eyes.” 

“That’s very nice,” said Leonore. 

“And I like the way you say ‘dear,’” said Peter. 
“Don’t you want to say it again?” 

“No, I hate people who say the same thing twice.” 

Then there was a long pause. 

“What poor things words are?” said Peter, at the 
end of it. 

“ I know just what you mean,” said Leonore. 

Clearly they both meant what they said, for there came 
another absence of words. How long the absence would 
have continued is a debatable point. Much too soon a 
door opened. 

“ Hello ! ” said a voice. “Back already? What kind 
of an evening had you ? ” 

“ A very pleasant one,” said Peter, calmly, yet expres- 
sively. 

“Let go my hand, Peter, please,” a voice whispered 
imploringly. “Oh, please! I can’t to-night. Oh, 
please ! ” 

“Say ‘ dear,’” whispered Peter, meanly. 

“Please, dear,” said Leonore. Then Leonore went 
towards the stairs hurriedly. 

“Not off already. Dot, surely?” 

“Yes. I’m going to bed.” 

“Come and have a cigar, Peter,” said Watts, walking 
towards the library. 

“In a moment,” said Peter. He went to the foot o! 


“ GA THER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MA Y” 387 

the stairs and said, “ Please, dear,” to the figure going 
up. 

“ Well? ” said the figure. 

Peter went up five steps. “Please,” he begged. 

“No,” said the figure, “ but there is my hand.” 

So Peter turned the little soft palm uppermost and 
kissed it. Then he forgot the cigar and Watts. He 
went to his room, and thought of— of his birthday gift. 


CHAPTER LIX. 

* GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.” 

If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was 
still more restless the next morning. He was down 
early, though for no apparent reason, and did nothing 
but pass from hall to room, and room to hall, spending 
most of his time in the latter, however. 

How Leon ore could have got from her room into the 
garden without Peter seeing her was a question which 
puzzled him not a little, when, by a chance glance out of 
the window, he saw that personage clipping roses off the 
bushes. He did not have time to spare, however, to 
reason out an explanation. He merely stopped roaming, 
and went out to — to the roses. 

“Good-morning,” said Leonore pleasantly, though not 
looking at Peter, as she continued her clipping. 

Peter did not say anything for a moment. Then he 
asked, “Is that all?” 

“ I don’t know what you mean,” said Leonore, inno- 
cently. “Besides, some one might be looking out of a 
window.” 

Peter calmly took hold of the basket to help Leonore 
sustain its enormous weight. “Let me help you carry 
it,” he said. 

“Very well,” said Leonore. “But there’s no occasion 
to carry my hand too. Pm not decrepit.” 

“ I hoped I was helping you,” said Peter. 

“You are not. But you may carry the basket, since 
you want to hold something.” 

“Very well,” said Peter meekly. 

“Do you know,” said Leonore, as she snipped, and 


388 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

dropped roses into the basket, “you are not as obstinate 
as people say you are.” 

“ Don’t deceive yourself on that score,” said Peter. 

“Well ! I mean you are not absolutely determined to 
have your own way.” 

“I never give up my own views,” said Peter, “unless 
I can see more to be gained by so doing. To that extent 
I am not at all obstinate.” 

“Suppose,” said Leon ore, “that you go and cut the 
roses on those furthest bushes while I go in and arrange 
these ? ” 

“Suppose,” said Peter calmly, and with an evident lack 
of enthusiasm. 

“Well. Will you?” 

“No.” 

“Why not?” 

“The motion to adjourn,” said Peter, “is never debat- 
able.” 

“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that you are begin- 
ning very badly? ” 

“ That is what I have thought ever since I joined you.” 

“Then why don’t you go away? ” 

“ Why make bad, worse ? ” 

“There,” said Leonore. “Your talking has made me 
cut my finger, almost.” 

“Let me see,” said Peter, reaching out for her hand. 

“I’m too busy,” said Leonoi'e. 

“Do you know,” said Peter, “that if you cut many 
more buds, you won’t have any more roses for a week. 
You’ve cut twice as many roses as you usually do.” 

“Then I’ll go in and* arrange them. I wish you would 
give Betise a run across the lawn. ” 

“I never run before breakfast,” said Peter. “Doctors 
say it’s very bad.” 

So he followed her in. Leonore became tremendously 
occupied in arranging the flowers. Peter became tre- 
mendously occupied in watching her. 

“You want to save one of those for me,” he said, 
presently. 

“Take one,” said Leonore. 

“My legal rule has been that I never take what I can 
get given me. You can’t do less than pin it in my but- 
ton-hole, considering that it is my birthday. ” 


“GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY." 389 

•‘If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it 
at once,” said Leonore. She picked out a rose, arranged 
the leaves as only womankind can, and, turning to Peter, 
pinned it in his button-hole. But when she went to take 
her hands away, she found them held against the spot so 
firmly that she could feel the heart-beats underneath. 

“Oh, please,” was all she said, appealingly, while 
Peter’s rose seemed to reflect some of its color on her 
cheeks. 

“I don’t want you to give it to me if you don’t wish,” 
said Peter, simply. “But last night I sat up late thinking 
about it. All night I dreamed about it. When I waked 
up this morning, I was thinking about it. And I’ve 
thought about it ever since. I can wait, but I’ve waited 
so long ! ” 

Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid 
manner, held her lips up to Peter. 

“Still,” Leonore said presently, when again arranging 
of the roses, “since you’ve waited so long, you needn’t 
have been so slow about it when you did get it. ” 

“I’m sorry I did it so badly,” said Peter, contritely. 
“ I always was slow 1 Let me try again ? ” 

“No.” 

“ Then show me how ? ” 

“No.” 

“Now who’s obstinate? ” inquired Peter. 

“You,” said Leonore, promptly. “And I don’t like 
it.” 

“Oh, Leonore,” said Peter. “If you only knew how 
happy I am ! ” 

Leonore forgot all about her charge of obstinacy. “So 
am I,” she said. “And I won’t be obstinate any more.'* 

“Was that better?” Peter asked, presently. 

“No,” said Leonore. “That wouldn’t have been pos- 
sible. But you do take so long ! I shan’t be able to give 
you more than one a day. It takes so much time.” 

“ But then I shall have to be much slower about it” 

“Then I’ll only give you one every other day.” 

“Then I shall be so much the longer.” 

“Yes,” sighed Leonore. “ You are obstinate, after all ! ” 

So they went on till breakfast was announced. Perhaps 
it was foolish. But they were happy in their foolishness, 
if such it was. It is not profitable to write what they 


39 ° 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


said. It is idle to write of the week that followed. To 
all others what they said and did could only be the say- 
ings and doings of two very intolerable people. But to 
them it was what can never be told in words — and to 
them we will leave it. 

It was Leonore who put an end to this week. Each 
day that Peter lingered brought letter and telegraphic 
appeals to him from the party-leaders, over which Peter 
only laughed, and which he not infrequently failed even 
to answer. But Mr. Pell told Leonore something one 
day which made her say to Peter later : 

‘‘Is it true that you promised to speak in New York on 
the fifteenth ? ” 

“Yes. But I wrote Green last night saying I shan't.” 

“And were you to have made a week of speeches 
through the State ? ” 

“Yes. But I can't spare the time.” 

“Yes, you can. You must leave to-morrow and make 
them.” 

“ I can't,” groaned Peter. 

“You must.” 

“Who says so ? ” 

“I do. Please, Peter? I so want to see you win. I 
shall never forgive myself if I defeat you.” 

“ But a whole week,” groaned Peter. 

“We shall break up here on the eighteenth, and of 
course you would have to leave a day sooner. So you’ll 
not be any better off.” 

“Well,” sighed Peter, “If I do as you want, will you 
give me the seven I shall lose before I go.” 

“Dear me, Peter,” sighed Leonore, “you oughtn’t to 
ask them, since it’s for your own sake. I can’t keep you 
contented. You do nothing but encroach.” 

“I should get them if I was here,” said Peter. “And 
one a day is little enough 1 I think, if I oblige you by 
going away, I shouldn’t be made to suffer more than is 
necessary.” 

“ I’m going to call youGrowley, ” said Leonore, patting 
him on the cheek. Then she put her own against it. 
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “It’s just as hard for 
me. ” 

So Peter buckled on his armor and descended into the 
arena. Whether he spoke well or ill, we leave it to those 


* GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY* 391 

to say who care to turn back to the files of the papers of 
that campaign. Perhaps, however, it may be well to add 
that an entirely unbiassed person, after reading his open- 
ing speeches, delivered in the Cooper Union and the Met- 
ropolitan Opera House, in New York City, wrote him: 
“ It is libel to call you Taciturnity. They are splendid I 
How I wish I could hear you — and see you, dear. I’m 
very lonely, and so are B6tise and Tawney-eye. We do 
nothing but wander round the house all day, waiting for 
your letter, and the papers.” Three thousand people in 
the Brooklyn Rink were kept waiting for nearly ten 
minutes by Peter’s perusal of that letter. But when he 
had finished it, and had reached the Rink, he out-Stirlinged 
Stirling. A speaker nowadays speaks far more to the 
people absent than to the people present. Peter did this 
that evening. He spoke, it is true, to only one person 
that night, but it was the best speech of the campaign. 

A week later, Peter rang the bell of the Fifty-seventh 
Street house. He was in riding costume, although he had 
not been riding. 

“Mr. and Mrs. D’Alloi are at breakfast,” he was in- 
formed. 

Peter rather hurriedly laid his hat and crop on the hall- 
table, and went through the hall, but his hurry suddenly 
came to an end, when a young lady, carrying her napkin, 
added herself to the vista. “ I knew it must be you,” she 
said, offering her hand very properly — (on what grounds 
Leonore surmised that a ring at the door-bell at nine 
o'clock meant Peter, history does not state) — “I won- 
dered if you knew enough to come to breakfast. Mamma 
sent me out to say that you are to come right in.” 

Peter was rather longer over the handshake than conven- 
tion demands, but he asked very politely, “How are your 

father and ?” But just then the footman closed a 

door behind him, and Peter’s interest in parents suddenly 
ceased. 

“ How could you be so late? ” said some one presently. 
“I watched out of the window for nearly an hour.” 

“My train was late. The time-table on that road is 
simply a satire ! ” said Peter. Yet it is the best managed 
road in the country, and this particular train was only 
seven minutes overdue. 

“You have been to ride, though,” said Leonore. 


39 2 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“ ‘ No. I have an engagement to ride with a disagree 
able girl aftei breakfast, so I dressed for it. ” 

“ Suppose the disagreeable girl should break herengage^ 
ment — or declare there never was one?” 

“She won’t/' said Peter. “It may not have been put 
in the contract, but the common law settles it beyond 
question.” 

Leonore laughed a happy laugh. Then she asked : 
“ For whom are those violets ? ” 

“ I had to go to four places before I could get any at 
this season, ” said Peter. ‘ ‘ Ugly girls are just troublesome 
enough to have preferences. What will you give me for 
them?” 

“Some of them,” said Leonore, and obtained the bunch. 
Who dares to say after that that women have no business 
ability nor shrewdness ? It is true that she kissed the frac- 
tion returned before putting it in Peter’s button-hole, 
which raises the question which had the best of the 
bargain. 

“I’m behind the curtain, so I can’t see anything,” 
said a voice from a doorway, “and therefore you needn’t 
jump ; but I wish to inquire if you two want any break- 
fast?” 

A few days later Peter again went up the steps of the 
Fifty-seventh Street house. This practice was becoming 
habitual with Peter ; in fact, so habitual that his cabby 
had said to him this very day, “The old place, sir?” 
Where Peter got the time it is difficult to understand, con- 
sidering that his law practice was said to be large, and his 
political occupations just at present not small. But that 
is immaterial. The simple fact that Peter went up the 
steps is the essential truth. 

From the steps, he passed into a door; from the door 
he passed into a hall ; from a hall he passed into a room ; 
from a room he passed into a pair of arms. 

“Thank the Lord, you’ve come,” Watts remarked. 
“Leonore has up and down refused to make the tea till 
you arrived.” 

“I was at headquarters, and they would talk, talk, 
talk,” said Peter. “I get out of patience with them. 
One would think the destinies of the human race depended 
on this campaign ! ” 

“So the Growley should have his tea,” said a vision. 


- GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY” 393 

now seated on the lounge at the tea-table. * ‘ Then Gro wley 
will feel better.” 

“I'm doing that already,” said Growley, sitting down 
on the delightfully short lounge — now such a fashionable 
and deservedly popular drawing-room article. “May I 
tell you how you can make me absolutely contented ? ” 

“ I suppose that will mean some favor from me,” said 
Leonore. “I don't like children who want to be bribed 
out of their bad temper. Nice little boys are never bad- 
tempered. ” 

“I was only bad-tempered,” whispered Peter, “be- 
cause I was kept from being with you. That’s cause 
enough to make the best-tempered man in the universe 
murderous.” 

“Well?” said Leonore, mollifying, “what is it this 
time?” 

“I want you all to come down to my quarters this 
evening after dinner. I’ve received warning that I’m to 
be serenaded about nine o’clock, and I thought you would 
like to hear it.” 

“What fun,” cried Leonore. “Of course we’ll go. 
Shall you speak ? ” 

“No. We’ll sit in my window-seats merely, and 
listen. ” 

“ How many will there be? ” 

“ It depends on the paper you read. The ‘World ’ will 
probably say ten thousand, the ‘Tribune’ three thousand, 
and the * Voice of Labor ’ ‘ a handful. ’ Oh ! by the way, I 
brought you a ‘Voice’.” He handed Leonore a paper, 
which he took from his pocket. 

Now this was simply shameful of him ! Peter had 
found, whenever the papers really abused him, that Leo- 
nore was doubly tender to him, the more, if he pretended 
that the attacks and abuse pained him. So he brought 
her regularly now that organ of the Labor party which 
was most vituperative of him, and looked sad over it just 
as long as was possible, considering that Leonore was 
trying to comfort him. 

“ Oh, dear !” said Leonore. “That dreadful paper. I 
can’t bear to read it. Is it very bad to-day ? ” 

“I haven’t read it,” said Peter, smiling. “I never read 
— ” then Peter coughed, suddenly looked sad, and con- 
tinued — “the parts that do not speak of me.” “That 


394 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


isn't a lie," he told himself, “I don't read them." Bu* 
he felt guilty. Clearly Peter was losing his old-time 
straightforwardn ess. 

“ After its saying that you had deceived your clients 
into settling those suits against Mr. Bohlmann, upon his 
promise to help you in politics, I don’t believe they can 
say anything worse,” said Leonore, putting two lumps 
of sugar (with her fingers) into a cup of tea. Then she 
stirred the tea, and tasted it. Then she touched the edge 
of the cup with her lips. “Is that right?” she asked, 
as she passed it to Peter. 

“Absolutely,” said Peter, looking the picture of bliss. 
But then he remembered that this wasn’t his role, so he 
looked sad and said: “That hurt me, I confess. It is 
so unkind.” 

“ Poor dear,” whispered a voice. “You shall have an 
extra one to-day, and you shall take just as long as you 
want 1 ” 

Now, how could mortal man look grieved, even over 
an American newspaper, with that prospect in view ? It 
is true that “one” is a very indefinite thing. Perhaps 
Leonore merely meant another cup of tea. Whatever she 
meant, Peter never learned, for, barely had he tasted 
his tea when the girl on the lounge beside him gave a 
cry. She rose, and as she did so, some of the tea-things 
fell to the floor with a crash. 

“ Leonore ! ” cried Peter. “What ” 

“Peter!” cried Leonore. “Say it isn’t so?” It was 
terrible to see the suffering in her face and to hear the 
appeal in her voice. 

“My darling,” cried the mother, “ what is the matter ? ” 

“ It can’t be,” cried Leonore. “Mamma ! Papa ! Say 
it isn’t so ? ” 

“What, my darling?” said Peter, supporting the sway* 
ing figure. 

“This,” said Leonore, huskily, holding out the news* 
paper. 

Mrs. D'Alloi snatched it. One glance she gave it. 
“Oh, my poor darling!” she cried. “I ought not to 
have allowed it. Peter ! Peter ! Was not the stain great 
enough, but you must make my poor child suffer for 
it ? ” She shoved Peter away, and clasped Leonore 
wildly in her arms. 


« GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAT." 395 

“ Mamma ! ” cried Leonore. “ Don't talk so ! Don't ! 
I know he didn’t ! He couldn’t ! ” 

Peter caught up the paper. There in big head-lines 
was : 

SPEAK UP, STIRLING! 


WHO IS THIS BOY? 

DETECTIVE PELTER FINDS A WARD UNKNOWN 
TO THE COURTS, AND EXPLANATIONS ARE 
IN ORDER FROM 

PURITY STIRLING. 

The rest of the article it is needless to quote. What it 
said was so worded as to convey everything vile by 
innuendo and inference, yet in truth saying nothing. 

“Oh, my darling!” continued Mrs. D’Alloi. “You 
have a right to kill me for letting him come here after he 
had confessed it to me. But I — Oh, don’t tremble so. 
Oh, Watts ! We have killed her.” 

Peter held the paper for a moment. Then he handed 
it to Watts. He only said “Watts?” but it was a cry 
for help and mercy as terrible as Leonore’s had been the 
moment before. 

“Of course, chum,” cried Watts. “Leonore, dear, 
it’s all right. You mustn’t mind. Peter’s a good man. 
Better than most of us. You mustn’t mind.” 

“Don’t,” cried Leonore. “ Let me speak. Mamma, 
did Peter tell you it was so ? ” 

All were silent. 

“Mamma! Say something? Papa! Peter! Will 
nobody speak ? ” 

“Leonore,” said Peter, “do not doubt me. Trust 
me and I will ” 

“Tell me,” cried Leonore interrupting, “was this 
why you didn’t come to see us ? Oh ! I see it all ! This 
is what mamma knew. This is what pained you. And 
I thought it was your love for ! ” Leonore screamed. 

“My darling,” cried Peter wildly, “don’t look sa 
'’t speak ” 


39 ^ 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


‘‘Don’t touch me,” cried Leonore. “Don’t. Only go 
away.” Leonore threw herself upon the rug weeping. 
It was fearful the way those sobs shook her. 

“It can’t be,” said Peter. “ Watts 1 She is killing 
herself.” 

But Watts had disappeared from the room. 

“ Only go away,” cried Leonore. “That’s all you can 
do now. There’s nothing to be done. ” 

Peter leaned over and picked up the prostrate figure, 
and laid it tenderly on the sofa. Then he kissed the edge 
of her skirt. “Yes. That’s all I can do,” he said quiet- 
ly. “ Good-bye, sweetheart. I’ll go away.” He looked 
about as if bewildered, then passed from the room to the 
hall, from the hall to the door, from the door to the steps. 
He went down them, staggering a little as if dizzy, and 
tried to walk towards the Avenue. Presently he ran into 
something. “ Clumsy,” said a lady’s voice. “ I beg 
your pardon,” said Peter mechanically. A moment later 
he ran into something again. “ I beg your pardon,” 
said Peter, and two well-dressed girls laughed to see a 
bareheaded man apologize to a lamp-post. He walked 
on once more, but had not gone ten paces, when a hand 
was rested on his shoulder. 

“ Now then, my beauty,” said a voice. “ You want 
to get a cab, or I shall have to run you in. Where do you 
want to go ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Peter. 

“Come,” said the policeman shaking him, “where 
do you belong ? My God ! It’s Mr. Stirling. Why, sir. 
What’s the matter ? ” 

“ I think I’ve killed her,” said Peter. 

“ He’s awfully screwed,” ejaculated the policeman. 
“And him of all men ! Nobody shall know.” He hailed 
a passing cab, and put Peter into it. Then he gave 
Peter’s office address, and also got in. He was fined the 
next day for being off his beat “without adequate rea- 
sons,” but he never told where he had been. When 
they reached the building, he helped Peter into the eleva- 
tor. From there he helped him to his door. He rang the 
bell, but no answer came. It was past office-hours, and 
Jenifer having been told that Peter would dine up-town, 
had departed on his own leave of absence. The police- 
man had already gone through Peter’s pockets to get 


“ GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.” 397 

money for cabby, and now he repeated the operation, 
taking possession of Peter’s keys. He opened the door 
and, putting him into a deep chair in the study, laid 
the purse and keys on Peter’s desk, writing on a scrap 
of paper with much difficulty : “ mr. Stirling $2. 50 I took 
to pay the carriage. John Motty policeman 22 precinct,” 
he laid it beside the keys and purse. Then he went back 
to his beat. 

And what was Peter doing all this time ? Just what he 
now did. He tried to think, though each eye felt as if a 
red hot needle was burning in it. Presently he rose, and 
began to pace the floor, but he kept stumbling over the 
desk and chairs. As he stumbled he thought, sometimes 
to himself, sometimes aloud: “If I could only think! 
I can’t see. What was it Dr. Pilcere said about her eyes ? 
Or was it my eyes ? Did he give me some medicine ? I 
can’t remember. And it wouldn’t help her. Why can’t 
I think ? What is this pain in her head and eyes ? Why 
does everything look so dark, except when those pains go 
through her head ? They feel like flashes of lightning, 
and then I can see. Why can’t I think ? Her eyes get in 
the way. He gave me something to put on them. But 
I can’t give it to her. She told me to go away. To stop 
this agony ! How she suffers. It’s getting worse every 
moment. I can’t remember about the medicine. There 
it comes again. Now I know. It’s not lightning. It’s 
the petroleum ! Be quick, boys. Can’t you hear my 
darling scream ? It’s terrible. If I could only think. 
What was it the French doctor said to do, if it came 
back? No. We want to get some rails.” Peter dashed 
himself against a window. “ Once more, men, together. 
Can’t you hear her scream ? Break down the door ! ” 
Peter caught up and hurled a pot of flowers at the window, 
and the glass shattered and fell to the floor and street. 
“ If I could see. But it’s all dark. Are those lights? 
No. It’s too late. I can’t save her from it.” 

So he wandered physically and mentally. Wandered 
till sounds of martial music came up through the broken 
window. “Fall in,” cried Peter. “The Anarchists are 
after her. It’s dynamite, not lightning. Podds, Don’t 
let them hurt her. Save her. Oh ! save her ! Why can’t 
I get to her? Don’t try to hold me,” he cried, as he 
came in contact with a chair. He caught it up and hurled 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


39 8 

it across the room, so that it crashed into the picture- 
frames, smashing chair and frames into fragments. “I 
can’t be the one to throw it,” he cried, in an agonized 
voice. “ She’s all I have. For years I’ve been so lonely. 
Don’t. I can’t throw it. It kills me to see her suffer. It 
wouldn’t be so horrible if I hadn’t done it myself. If I 
didn’t love her so. But to blow her up myself. I can’t. 
Men, will you stand by me, and help me to save her ? ” 

The band of music stopped. A moment’s silence fell 
and then up from the street, came the air of : “Marching 
through Georgia,” five thousand voices singing : 

“ Rally round our party, boys ; 

Rally to the blue, 

And battle for our candidate, 

So sterling and so true. 

Fight for honest government, boys, 

And down the vicious crew ; 

Voting for freedom and Stirling. 

Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, brave and strong. 
Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, never wrong. 

And roll the voters up in line, 

Two hundred thousand strong; 

Voting for freedom and Stirling. 

“ I can’t fight so many. Two hundred thousand ! 1 

have no sword. I didn’t shoot them. No 1 I only gave 
the order. It hurt me, but I didn’t mean to hurt her. 
She’s all I have. Do you think I intended to kill her? 
No ! No sacrifice would be too great. And you can talk 
to me of votes ! Two hundred thousand votes ! I did 
my best for her. I didn’t mean to hurt her. And I went 
to see the families. I went to see them all. If I only 
could think. But she is suffering too much. I can’t think 
as long as she lies on the rug, and trembles so. See the 
flashes of lightning pass through her head. Don’t bury 
your face in the rug. No wonder it’s all dark. Try to 
think, and then it will be all right.” 

Up from the street came the air of : “There were three 
crows,” and the words : 

“ Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth, 
Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth, 
Steven Maguire has schemed and schemed, 

But all his schemes will end in froth ! 

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah. 

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah. 


“GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY. 


399 


For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth, 

For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth. 

For Peter Stirling elected will be 

And Steven Maguire will be in broth, 

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah, 

And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah. 

“ It’s Steven Maguire. He never could be honest. 1/ 
I had him here ! ” Peter came in contact with a chair. 
“Who’s that? Ah! It’s you. You’ve killed her. Now!" 
And another chair went flying across the room with such 
force, that the door to the hall flew off its hinges, and fell 
with a crash. ‘ ‘ I’ve killed him ” screamed Peter. ‘ 4 I’ve-' 
No, I’ve killed my darling. All I have in the world ! ’’ 

And so he raved, and roamed, and stumbled, and fell ; 
and rose, and roamed, and raved, and stumbled, and fell, 
while the great torchlight procession sang and cheered 
him from below. 

He was wildly fighting his pain still when two persons, 
who, after ringing and ringing, had finally been let in by 
Jenifer’s key, stood where the door had been. 

“My God,’’ cried one, in terror. “ He’s crazy ! Come 
away ! ’’ 

But the other, without a word or sign of fear, went up 
to that wild-looking figure, and put her hand in his. 

Peter stopped his crazed stride. 

“ I can’t think, I tell you. I can’t think as long as you 
lie there on the rug. And your eyes blaze so. They feel 
just like balls of fire. ” 

“Please sit down, Peter. Please? For my sake. 
Here. Here is the chair. Please sit down.” 

Peter sank back in the chair. “ I tell you I can’t think. 
They do nothing but burn. It’s the petroleum ! ” He 
started forward, but a slender arm arrested his at- 
tempt to rise, and he sank back again as if it had some 
power over him. 

“ Hyah, miss. Foh de lub ub heaben, put some ub dis 
yar on he eyes,” said Jenifer, who had appeared with a 
bottle, and was blubbering enough to supply a whole 
whaling fleet. “De doctor he done give dis yar foh de 
Aspic nerve.” Which is a dish that Jenifer must have in- 
vented himself, for it is not discoverable even on the full- 
est of menus. 

Leonore knelt in front of Peter, and. drenching her 


400 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

fingers with the wash, began rubbing it softly over his 
eyes. It has always been a problem whether it was the 
remedy or the ends of those fingers which took those lines 
of suffering out of Peter’s face and made him sit quietly 
in that chair. Those having little faith in medicines, and 
much faith in a woman’s hands, will opine the latter. 
Doctors will not. 

Sufhceth it to say, after ten minutes of this treatment, 
during which Peter’s face had slowly changed, first to a 
look of rest, and then to one which denoted eagerness, 
doubt and anxiety, but not pain, that he finally put out 
his hands and took Leonore’s. 

“You have come to me,” he said. “Has he told 
you ? ” 

“ Who ? What ? ” asked Leono. 3. 

“You still think I could ?” cried Peter. “Then why 
are you here ? ” He opened his eyes wildly and would 
have risen, only Leonore was kneeling in front of the 
chair still. 

“Don’t excite yourself, Peter,” begged Leonore. 
“We’ll not talk of that now. Not till you are better.” 

“ What are you here for ? ” cried Peter. “Why did you 
come ? ” 

“Oh, please, Peter, be quiet.” 

“Tell me, I will have it.” Peter was exciting himself, 
raore from Leonore’s look than by what she said. 

“Oh, Peter. I made papa bring me — because — Oh ! I 
wanted to ask you to do something. For my sake 1 ” 

“ What is it? ” 

“I wanted to ask you,” sobbed Leonore, “to marry 
her. Then I shall always think you were what I — I— 

have been loving, and not ” Leonore laid her head 

down on his knee, and sobbed bitterly. 

Peter raised Leonore in his arms, and laid the little head 
on his shoulder. 

“ Dear one, ” he said, “ do you love me ? ” 

“Yes,” sobbed Leonore. 

“And do you think I love you ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Now look into your heart. Could you tell me a lie ? ” 

“No.” 

“Nor can I you. I am not the father of that boy, and 
I never wronged his mother.” 


A CONUNDRUM. 


401 


“But you told ” sobbed Leonore. 

“ I lied to your mother, dear/' 

“For what?” Leonore had lifted her head, and there 
was a look of hope in her eyes, as well as of doubt. 

“Because it was better at that time than the truth. But 
Watts will tell you that I lied.” 

“Papa? ” 

“Yes, Dot. Dear old Peter speaks the truth.” 

“But if you lied to her, why not to me? ” 

“I can’t lie to you, Leonore. I am telling you the 
truth. Won’t you believe me ?” 

“ I do,” cried Leonore. “ I know you speak the truth. 
It’s in your face and voice.” And the next moment her 
arms were about Peter’s neck, and her lips were on his. 

Just then some one in the “torchlight” shouted: 
u What’s the matter wid Stirling ? ” 

And a thousand voices joyfully yelled : 

“He’s all right.” 

And so was the crowd. 


CHAPTER LX. 

A CONUNDRUM. 

Mr. Pierce was preparing to talk. Usually Mr. Pierce 
was talking. Mr. Pierce had been talking already, but it 
had been to single listeners only, and for quite a time in 
the last three hours Mr. Pierce had been compelled to be 
silent. But at last Mr. Pierce believed his moment had 
come. Mr. Pierce thought he had an audience, and a 
plastic audience at that. And these three circumstances 
in combination made Mr. Pierce fairly bubbling with 
words. No longer would he have to waste his precious 
wit and wisdom, tite-a-lete, or on himself. 

At first blush Mr. Pierce seemed right in his conjecture. 
Seated — in truth, collapsed, on chairs and lounges, in a dis- 
arranged and untidy-looking drawing-room, were nearly 
twenty very tired-looking people. The room looked as if 
there had just been a free fight there, and the people 
looked as if they had been the participants. But the mul« 


402 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING 


titude of flowers and the gay dresses proved beyond que9* 
tion that something else had made the disorder of the 
room and had put that exhausted look upon the faces. 

Experienced observers would have understood it at a 
glimpse. From the work and fatigues of this world, peo- 
ple had gathered for a little enjoyment of what we call 
society. It is true that both the room and its occupants 
did not indicate that there had been much recreation. 
But, then, one can lay it down as an axiom that the peo- 
ple who work for pleasure are the hardest-working people 
in the world ; and, as it is that for which society labors, 
this scene is but another proof that they get very much 
fatigued over their pursuit of happiness and enjoyment, 
considering that they hunt for it in packs, and entirely ex- 
clude the most delicious intoxicant known — usually called 
oxygen — from their list of supplies from the caterer. Cer- 
tainly this particular group did look exhausted far beyond 
the speech-making point. But this, too, was a deception. 
These limp-looking individuals had only remained in this 
drawing-room for the sole purpose of “talking it over,” 
and Mr. Pierce had no walk-over before him. 

Mr. Pierce cleared his throat and remarked: “The 
development of marriage customs and ceremonies from 
primeval days is one of the most curious and ” 

“ What a lovely wedding it has been ! ” said Dorothy, 
heaving a sigh of fatigue and pleasure combined. 

“ Wasn’t it ! ” went up a chorus from the whole party, 
except Mr. Pierce, who looked eminently disgusted. 

“ As I was remarking ” began Mr. Pierce again. 

“ But the best part,” said Watts, who was lolling on one 
of the lounges, “was those ‘sixt’ ward presents. As 
Mr. Moriarty said : ‘ Begobs, it’s hard it would be to 

find the equal av that tureen ! ’ He was right 1 Its equal 
for ugliness is inconceivable.” 

“Yet the poor beggars spent eight hundred dollars on 
it,” sighed Lispenard, wearily. 

“ Relative to the subject ” said Mr. Pierce. 

“ And Leonore told me,” said a charmingly-dressed 
girl, “ that she liked it better than any other present she 
had received. ” 

“ Oh, she was more enthusiastic,” laughed Watts, 
“ over all the ‘sixt’ ward and political presents than she 
was over what we gave her. We weren’t in it at all with 


A CONUNDRUM. 


403 


ihe Micks. She has come out as much a worshipper of 
hoi-polloi as Peter. ” 

“ I don’t believe she cares a particle for them,” said 
our old friend, the gentlemanly scoundrel ; “ but she wor- 
ships them because they worship him.” 

“Well,” sighed Lispenard, “that’s the way things go 
in life. There’s that fellow gets worshipped by every 
one, from the Irish saloon-keeper up to Leonore. While 
look at me ! I’m a clever, sweet-tempered, friendly sort 
of a chap, but nobody worships me. There isn’t any one 
who gives a second thought for yours truly. I seem good 
for nothing, except being best man to much luckier chaps. 
While look at Peter ! He’s won the love of a lovely girl, 
who worships him to a degree simply inconceivable. I 
never saw such idealization.” 

“ Then you haven’t been watching Peter,” said Mrs. 
D’Alloi, who, as a mother, had no intention of having it 
supposed that Leonore was not more loved than loving. 

“ Taking modern marriage as a basis ” said Mr. 

Pierce. 

“ Oh,” laughed Dorothy, “ there’s no doubt they are a 
pair, and I’m very proud of it, because I did it.” 

“ Cock-a-doodle-doo ! ” crowed Ray. 

“ I did,” said Dorothy, “ and my own husband is not 
the one to cast reflection on my statement.” 

“ He’s the only one who dares,” said Ogden. 

“ Well, I did. Leonore would never have cared for 
such a silent, serious man if I hadn’t shown her that other 
women did, and ” 

“ Nonsense,” laughed Ogden. “ It was Podds did it. 
Dynamite is famous for the uncertainty of the direction in 
which it will expend its force, and in this case it blew in a 
circle, and carried Leonore’s heart clear from Newport to 
Peter.” 

“ Or, to put it scientifically,” said Lispenard, “ along 
the line of least resistance.” 

“It seems to me that Peter was the one who did it,” 
said Le Grand. “But of course, as a bachelor, I can’t 
expect my opinion to be accepted.” 

“ No,” said Dorothy. “He nearly spoiled it by cheap- 
ening himself. No girl will think a man is worth much 
who lets her tramp on him.” 

“Still,” said Lispenard, “few girls can resist the flat- 


404 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 

tery of being treated by a man as if she is the only woman 
worth considering in the world, and Peter did that to 
an extent which was simply disgraceful. It was laughable 
to see the old hermit become social the moment she ap- 
peared, and to see how his eyes and attention followed 
her. And his learning to dance ! That showed how 
things were." 

“ He began long before any of you dreamed," said 
Mrs. D’Alloi. ‘ ‘ Didn’t he, Watts ? " 

“ Undoubtedly," laughed Watts. “ And so did she. I 
really think Leonore did quite as much in her way, as 
Peter did. I never saw her treat any one quite as she 
behaved to Peter from the very first. I remember her 
coming in after her runaway, wild with enthusiam over 
him, and saying to me ‘ Oh, I’m so happy. I’ve got a 
new friend, and we are going to be such friends always ! ’ * 

“That raises the same question," laughed Ogden, 
“that the Irishman did about the street-fight, when he 
asked * Who thro wed that last brick first ? ' " 

“ Really, if it didn’t seem too absurd," said Watts, “I 
should say they began it the moment they met." 

“ I don’t think that at all absurd," said a gray-haired, re- 
fined looking woman who was the least collapsed of the 
group, or was perhaps so well bred as to conceal her feel- 
ings. “ I myself think it began before they even met. Leo- 
nore was half in love with Peter when she was in Europe, 
and Peter, though he knew nothing of her, was the kind 
of a man who imagines an ideal and loves that. She 
happened to be his ideal." 

“Really, Miss De Voe," said Mr. Pierce, “you must 
have misjudged him. Though Peter is now my grandson, 
I am still able to know what he is. He is not at all the 
kind of man who allows himself to be controlled by an 
ideal." 

“ I do not feel that I have ever known Peter. He does 
not let people perceive what is underneath," said Miss 
De Voe. “ But of one thing I am sure. Nearly every- 
thing he does is done from sentiment. At heart he is an 
idealist. " 

“ Oh ! " cried several. 

“That is a most singular statement,” said Mr. Pierce, 
“There is not a man I know who has less of the senti- 
mental and ideal in him. An idealist is a man of dreams 


A CONUNDRUM 


40 $ 

Und romance. Peter is far too sensible a fellow to be 
that. There is nothing heroic or romantic in him. ” 

“ Nonsense, Paternus” said Watts. “You don’t know 
anything about the old chap. You’ve only seen him as a 
cool clever lawyer. If your old definition of romance is 
right : that it is ‘ Love, and the battle between good and 
evil,’ Peter has had more true romance than all the rest 
of us put together.” 

“No,” said Mr. Pierce. “You have merely seen Peter 
in love, and so you all think he is romantic. He isn’t. 
He is a cool man, who never acts without weighing his 
actions, and therein has lain the secret of his success. 
He calmly marks out his line of life, and, regardless of 
everything else, pursues it. He disregards everything not 
to his purpose, and utilizes everything that serves. I 
predicted great success for him many years ago when he 
was fresh from college, simply from a study of his mental 
characteristics and I have proved myself a prophet. He 
has never made a slip, legally, politically, or socially. To 
use a yachting expression, he has * made everything 
draw.’ An idealist, or a man of romance and fire and 
impulse could never succeed as he has done. It is his 
entire lack of feeling which has led to his success. In- 
deed ” 

“I can’t agree with you,” interrupted Dorothy, sitting 
up from her collapse as if galvanized into life and speech 
by Mr. Pierce’s monologue. “You don’t understand 
Peter. He is a man of great feeling. Think of that 
speech of his about those children ! Think of his conduct 
to his mother as long as she lived ! Think of the good- 
ness and kindness he showed to the poor ! Why, Ray says 
he has refused case after case for want of time in recent 
years, while doing work for people in his ward which was 
worth nothing. If ” 

“They were worth votes,” interjected Mr. Pierce. 

“Look at his buying the Costell place in Westchester 
when Mr. Costell died so poor, and giving it to Mrs. 
Costell,” continued Dorothy, warming with her subject. 
“ Look at his going to those strikers’ families, and arrang- 
ing to help them. Were those things done for votes ? If 
.1 could only tell you of something he once did for me, 
you would not say that he was a man without feeling.” 

“I have no doubt/’ said Mr. Pierce blandly., “that he 


4_o6 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

did many things which, on their face, seemed admirable 
and to indicate feeling. But if carefully examined, they 
would be found to have been advantageous to him. Any 
service he could have done to Mrs. Rivington surely did 
not harm him. His purchase of Costell’s place pleased 
the political friends of the dead leader. His aiding the 
strikers’ families placated the men, and gained him praise 
from the press. I dislike greatly to oppose this rose- 
colored view of Peter, but, from my own knowledge of 
the man, I must. He is without feeling, and necessarily 
makes no mistakes, nor is he led off from his own ambitions 
by sentiment of any kind. When we had that meeting 
with the strikers, he sat there, while all New York was 
seething, with mobs and dead just outside the walls, as 
cool and impassive as a machine. He was simply deter- 
mined that we should compromise, because his own inter- 
ests demanded it, and he carried his point merely because 
he was the one cool man at that meeting. If he had had 
feeling he could not have been cool. That one incident 
shows the key-note of his success.” 

“And I *say his strong sympathies and feeling were 
the key-note,” reiterated Dorothy. 

“I think,” said Pell, “that Peter’s great success lay in 
his ability to make friends. It was simply marvellous. 
I’ve seen it, over and over again, both in politics and 
society. He never seemed to excite envy or bitterness. 
He h?rd a way of doing things which made people like 
him Every one he meets trusts him. Yet nobody un- 
derstands him. So he interests people, without exciting 
hostility. I’ve heard person after person say that he was 
an uninteresting, ordinary man, and yet nobody ever 
seemed to forget him. Every one of us feels, I am sure, 
that, as Miss De Voe says, he had within something he 
never showed people. I have never been able to see why 
he did or did not do hundreds of things. Yet it always 
turned out that what he did was right. He makes me 
think of the Frenchwoman who said to her sister, 4 1 don’t 
know why it is, sister, but I never meet any one who’s 
always right but myself.’ ” 

“You have hit it,” said Ogden Ogden, 44 and I can 
prove that you have by Peter’s own explanation of his 
success. I spoke to him once of a rather curious line 
of argument, as it seemed to me, which he was taking 


A CONUNDRUM. 


407 

in a case, and he said : * Ogden, I take that course because 
it is the way Judge Potter’s mind acts. If you want to 
convince yourself, take the arguments which do that best, 
but when you have to deal with judges or juries, take the 
lines which fit their capacities. People talk about my 
unusual success in winning cases. It’s simply because 
I am not certain that my way and my argument are the 
only way and the only argument. Pve studied the judges 
closely, so that I know what lines to take, and I always 
notice what seems to interest the jury most, in each case. 
But, more important than this study, is the fact that I can 
comprehend about how the average man will look at a 
certain thing. You see I am the son of plain people. 
Then I am meeting all grades of mankind, and hearing 
what they say, and getting their points of view. I have 
never sat in a closet out of touch with the world and 
decided what is right for others, and then spent time 
trying to prove it to them. In other words, I have suc- 
ceeded, because I am merely the normal or average man, 
and therefore am understood by normal or average people, 
or by majorities, to put it in another way.’” 

“But Mr. Stirling isn’t a commonplace man,” said an- 
other of the charmingly dressed girls. “ He is very silent, 
and what he says isn’t at all clever, but he’s very unusual 
and interesting.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Ogden, “I believe he was right. 
He has a way of knowing what the majority of people 
think or feel about things. And that is the secret of his 
success, and not his possession or lack of feeling.” 

“You none of you have got at the true secret of Peter’s 
success,” said Ray. “It was his wonderful capacity foi 
work. To a lazy beggar like myself it is marvellous. I’ve 
known that man to work from nine in the morning till one 
at night, merely stopping for meals. ” 

“Yet he did not seem an ambitious man,” said Le 
Grand. “He cared nothing for social success, he never 
has accepted office till now, and he has refused over and 
over again law work which meant big money.” 

“No,” said Ray. “Peter worked hard in law and 
politics. Yet he didn’t want office or money. He could 
more than once have been a judge, and Costell wanted 
him governor six years ago. He took the nomination 
this year against his own wishes. He cared as little foi 


408 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 


money or reputation in law, as he cared for society, and 
would compromise cases which would have added 
greatly to his reputation if he had let them go to trial. 
He might have been worth double what he is to-day, if 
he had merely invested his money, instead of letting it lie 
in savings banks or trust companies. I’ve spoken about 
it repeatedly to him, but he only said that he wasn't going 
to spend time taking care of money, for money ceased to 
be valuable when it had to be taken care of ; its sole use 
to him being to have it take care of him. I think he 
worked for the sake of working.” 

“That explains Peter, certainly. His one wish was to 
help others,” said Miss De Voe. “He had no desire for 
reputation or money, and so did not care to increase 
either. ” 

“And mark my words,” said Lispenard. “From this 
day, he’ll set no limit to his endeavors to obtain both.” 

“He can’t work harder than he has to get political 
power,” said an usher. “Think of how anxious he must 
have been to get it, when he would spend so much time 
in the slums and saloons ! He couldn’t have liked the 
men he met there.” 

“I’ve taken him to task about that, and told him he 
had no business to waste his time so,” said Ogden ; “ but 
he said that he was not taking care of other people’s money 
or trying to build up a great business, and that if he chose 
to curtail his practice, so as to have some time to work in 
politics, it was a matter of personal judgment.” 

“ I once asked Peter,” said Miss De Voe, “ how he could 
bear, with his tastes and feelings, to go into saloons, and 
spend so much time with politicians, and with the low, 
uneducated people of his district. He said, ‘That is my 
way of trying to do good, and it is made enjoyable to me 
by helping men over rough spots, or by preventing polit- 
ical wrong. I have taken the world and humanity as it 
is, and have done what I could, without stopping to criti- 
cise or weep over shortcomings and sins. I admire men 
who stand for noble impossibilities. But I have given 
my own life to the doing of small possibilities. I don’t 
say the way is the best. But it is my way, for I am a 
worker, not a preacher. And just because I have been 
willing to do things as the world is willing to have them 
done, power and success have come to me to do more.' 


A CONUNDRUM. 


409 

I believe it was because Peter had no wish for worldly 
success, that it came to him.” 

‘‘You are all wrong,” groaned Lispenard. “I love 
Peter as much as I love my own kin, with due apology 
to those of it who are present, but I must say that his 
whole career has been the worst case of sheer, downright 
luck of which I ever saw or heard.” 

“ Luck ! ” exclaimed Dorothy. 

“Yes, luck ! ” said Lispenard. “ Look at it. He starts 
in like all the rest of us. And Miss Luck calls him in to 
look at a sick kitten die. Very ordinary occurrence that ! 
Health-board report several hundred every week. But 
Miss Luck knew what she was about and called him in to 
just the right kind of a kitten to make a big speech about 
Thereupon he makes it, blackguarding and wiping the 
floor up with a millionaire brewer. Does the brewer wait 
for his turn to get even with him ? Not a bit. Miss Luck 
takes a hand in and the brewer falls on Peter’s breast-bone, 
and loves him ever afterwards. My cousin writes him, 
and he snubs her. Does she annihilate him as she would 
have other men ? No. Miss Luck has arranged all that, 
and they become the best of friends.” 

“Lispenard — ’’Miss De Voe started to interrupt indig- 
nantly, but Lispenard continued, “Hold on till I finish. 
One at a time. Well. Miss Luck gets him chosen to a 
convention by a fluke and Peter votes against Costell’s 
wishes. What happens ? Costell promptly takes him up 
and pushes him for all he’s worth. He snubs society, 
and society concludes that a man who is more snubby 
and exclusive than itself must be a man to cultivate. He 
refuses to talk, and every one promptly says : ‘ How 
interesting he is ! ’ He gets in the way of a dynamite 
bomb. Does it kill him ? Certainly not. Miss Luck 
has put an old fool there, to protect him. He swears a 
bad word. Does it shock respectable people ? No ! 
Every one breathes easier, and likes him the better. He 
enrages and shoots the strikers. Does he lose votes? 
Not one. Miss Luck arranges that the directors shall yield 
things which they had sworn not to yield ; and the strikers 
are reconciled and print a card in praise of him. He runs 
for office. Do the other parties make a good fight of it? 
No. They promptly nominate a scoundrelly demagogue 
and a nonentity who thinks votes are won by going about 


4io 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


in shirtsleeves. So he is elected by the biggest plurality 
the State has ever given. Has Miss Luck done enough ? 
No. She at once sets every one predicting that he'll get 
the presidential nomination two years from now, if he 
cares for it. Be it friend or enemy, intentional or unin- 
tentional, every one with whom he comes in contact gives 
him a boost. While look at me ! There isn't a soul who 
ever gave me help. It's been pure, fire-with-your-eyes- 
shut luck. 

‘‘Was this morning luck too? ” asked a bridesmaid. 

“Absolutely," sighed Lispenard. “ And what luck ! I 
always said that Peter would never marry, because he 
would insist on taking women seriously, and because 
at heart he was afraid of them to a woeful degree, and 
showed it in such a way, as simply to make women think 
he didn’t like them individually. But Miss Luck wouldn't 
allow that. Oh, no! Miss Luck isn't content even that 
Peter shall take his chance of getting a wife, with the rest 
of us. She's not going to have any accidents for him. 
So she takes the loveliest of girls and trots her all over 
Europe, so that she shan't have friends, or even know 
men well. She arranges, too, that the young girl shall 
have her head filled with Peter by a lot of admiring Avomen, 
who are determined to make him into a sad, unfortunate 
hero, instead of the successful man he is. A regular con* 
spiracy to delude a young girl. Then before the girl has 
seen anything of the world, she trots her over here. Does 
she introduce them at a dance, so that Peter shall be awk- 
ward and silent ? Not she ! She puts him where he looks 
his best — on a horse. She starts the thing off romanti- 
cally, so that he begins on the most intimate footing, be- 
fore another man has left his pasteboard. So he’s way 
ahead of the pack when they open cry. Is that enough ? 
No ! At the critical moment he is called to the aid of 
his country. Gets lauded for his pluck. Gets blown 
up. Gets everything to make a young girl worship him. 
Pure luck ! It doesn't matter what Peter says or does. 
Miss Luck always arranges that it turn up the winning 
card. " 

“ There is no luck in it/' cried Mr. Pierce. “ It was all 
due to his foresight and shrewdness. He plans things 
beforehand, and merely presses the button. Why, look 
at his marriage alone ? Does he fall in love early in life. 


A CONUNDRUM. 


41 J 


and hamper 'rimself with a Miss Nobody? Not he ! He 
waits till he has achieved a position where he can pick 
from the best, and then he does exactly that, if you’ll 
pardon a doating grandfather’s saying it.” 

‘‘Well,” said Watts, “we have all known Peter long 
enough to have found out what he is, yet there seems to 
be a slight divergence of opinion. Are we fools, or is 
Peter a gay deceiver ? ” 

“ He is the most outspoken man I ever knew,” said Miss 
De Voe. 

“But he tells nothing,” said an usher. 

“Yes. He is absolutely silent,” said a bridesmaid. 

“ Except when he’s speechifying,” said Ray. 

“And Leonore says he talks and jokes a great deal,” 
said Watts. 

* ‘ I never knew any one who is deceiving herself so about 
a man,” said Dorothy. “ It’s terrible. What do you think 
she had the face to say to me to-day ? ” 

“What?” 

“She was speaking of their plans after returning from 
the wedding journey, and she said : ‘ I am going to have 

Peter keep up his bachelor quarters.’ * Does he say he’ll 
doit?’ I asked. ‘I haven’t spoken to him,’ she replied, 

‘ but of course he will.’ I said : ‘ Leonore, all women think 
they rule their husbands, but they don’t in reality, and 
Peter will be less ruled than any man I know. ’ Then what 
do you think she said? ” 

“ Don’t keep us in suspense.” 

“She said : * None of you ever understood Peter. But 
I do.’ Think of it ! From that little chit, who’s known 
Peter half the number of months that I’ve known him 
years ! ” 

“ I don’t know,” sighed Lispenard. “ I’m not prepared 
to say it isn’t so. Indeed, after seeing Peter, who never 
seemed able to understand women till this one appeared 
on the scene, develop into a regulation lover, I am quite 
prepared to believe that every one knows more than I do. 
At the same time, I can’t afford to risk my reputation for 
discrimination and insight over such a simple thing as 
Peter’s character. You’ve all tried to say what Peter is. 
Now I’ll tell you in two words and you’ll all find you are 
right, and you’ll all find you are wrong.” 

“You are as bad as Leonore,” cried Dorothy. 


412 THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING. 

"Well," said Watts, “we are all listening. What 19 
Peter ? ” 

* * He is an extreme type of a man far from uncommon 
in this country, yet who has never been understood by 
foreigners, and by few Americans.” 

“Well?” 

” Peter is a practical idealist w 


CHAPTER LX1. 

UEONORE’S THEORY 

And how well had that “ talk-it-over ” group at the end 
of Peter’s wedding-day grasped his character? How 
clearly do we ever gain an insight into the feeling3 and 
motives which induce conduct even in those v/hom we 
best know and love? Each had found something in Peter 
that no other had discovered. We speak of rose-colored 
glasses, and Shakespeare wrote, “All things are yellow to 
a jaundiced eye.” When we take a bit of blue glass, and 
place it with yellow, it becomes green. When we put it 
with red, it becomes purple. Yet blue it is all the time. 
Is not each person responsible for the tint he seems to pro- 
duce in others ? Can we ever learn that the thing is blue, 
and that the green or purple aspect is only the tinge which 
we ourselves help to give? Can we ever learn that we 
love and are loved entirely as we give ourselves colors 
which may harmonize with those about us ? That love, 
wins love ; kindness, kindness ; hate, hate. That just 
such elements as we give to the individual, the individual 
gives back to us ? That the sides we show are the sides 
seen by the world. There were people who could truly 
believe that Peter was a ward boss ; a frequenter of 
saloons ; a drunkard ; a liar ; a swearer ; a murderer, in 
intention, if not in act ; a profligate ; and a compromiser 
of many of his own strongest principles. Yet there were 
people who could say other things of him. 

But more important than the opinion of Peter’s friends, 
and of the world, was the opinion of Peter’s wife. Was 
she right in her theory that she was the only one who 
understood him ? Or had she, as he had once done, 


LEONORAS THEORY. 


413 

reared an ideal, and given that ideal the love which she 
supposed she was giving Peter ? It is always a problem 
in love to say whether we love people most for the qual- 
ities they actually possess, or for those with which our own 
love endows them. Here was a young girl, inexperienced 
in world and men, joyfully sinking her own life in that of a 
man whom, but a few months before, had been only a mat- 
ter of hearsay to her. Yet she had apparently taken him, 
as women will, for better, for worse, till death, as trust* 
fully as if he and men generally were as knowable as A 
B C, instead of as unknown as the algebraic X. Only once 
had she faltered in her trust of him, and then but for a 
moment. How far had her love, and the sight of Peter's 
misery, led her blindly to renew that trust ? And would 
it hold ? She had seen how little people thought of that 
scurrilous article, and how the decent papers had passed 
it over without a word. But she had also seen the scan- 
dal harped upon by partisans and noted that Peter failed 
to vindicate himself publicly, or vouchsafe an explanation 
to her. Had she taken Peter with trust or doubt, knowl- 
edge or blindness? 

Perhaps a conversation between the two, a week later, 
will answer these questions. It occurred on the deck of a 
vessel. Yet this parting glimpse of Peter is very different 
from that which introduced him. The vessel is not drift- 
ing helplessly, but its great screw is whirling it towards 
the island of Martinique, as if itself anxious to reach that 
fairy land of fairy lands. Though the middle of Novem- 
ber, the soft warmth of the tropics is in the air. Nor are 
the sea and sky now leaden. The first is turned into liquid 
gold by the phosphorescence, and the full moon silvers 
everything else. Neither is Peter pacing the deck with 
lines of pain and endurance on his face. He is up in the 
bow, where the vessel's forefoot throws up the white foam 
in silver drops in the moonlight And he does not look 
miserable. Anything but that. He is sitting on an an- 
chor stock, with his back comfortably braced against the 
rail. Another person is not far distant. What that person 
sits upon and leans against is immaterial to the nar- 
rative. 

** Why don't you smoke ? " asked that person. 

“I'm too happy," said Peter, in a voice evidencing th* 
truth of his words. 




THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“ Will you if I bite off the end ?” asked Eve, Jr., placing 
temptation most temptingly. 

“I like the idea exceedingly," said Peter. “But my 
right arm is so very pleasantly placed that it objects to 
moving. " 

“ Don't move it. I know where they are. I even know 
about the matches.” And Peter sat calmly while his 
pockets were picked. He even seemed to enjoy the sen- 
sation of that small hand rummaging in his waistcoat 
pockets. “You see, dear, that I am learning your ways,” 
Leonore continued, in a tone of voice which suggested 
that that was the chief end of woman. Perhaps it is. 
The Westminster catechism only tells us the chief end 
of man. 

“There. Now are you really happy?" 

“ I don't know anybody more so.” 

“Then, dear, I want to talk with you." 

“ The wish is reciprocal. But what have we been doing 
for six days ? ” 

“ We've been telling each other everything, just as we 
ought. But now I want to ask two favors, dear.” 

“ I don't think that's necessary. Just tell me what they 
are.” 

“Yes. These favors are. Though I know you'll say 
‘yes.'" 

“Well?" 

“ First. I want you always to keep your rooms just as 
they are ? " 

“Dear-heart, after our six weeks' trip, we must be in 
Albany for three years, and when we come back to New 
York, we’ll have a house of course.” 

“Yes. But I want you to keep the rooms just as they 
are, because I love them. I don’t think I shall ever feel 
the same for any other place. It will be very convenient 
to have them whenever we want to run down from 
Albany. And of course you must keep up with the 
ward. ” 

“ But you don't suppose, after we are back in New- 
York, that I'll stay down there, with you uptown ? " 

“Oh, no! Of course not. Peter! How absurd you 
are ! But I shall go down very often. Sometimes we’ll 
give little dinners to real friends. And sometimes, when 
we want to get away from people, we'll dine by ourselves 


LEO NO RE'S THEORY, 


415 

and spend the night there. Then whenever you want to 
be at the saloons or primaries we’ll dine together there 
and I’ll wait for you. And then I think I’ll go down 
sometimes, when I’m shopping, and lunch with you. I’ll 
promise not to bother you. You shall go back to your 
work, and I’ll amuse myself with your flowers, and books, 
till you are ready to go uptown. Then we’ll ride to- 
gether. ” 

“ Lispenard frightened me the other day, but you 
frighten me worse. ” 

“How?’; 

“ He said you would be a much lovelier woman at 
thirty than you are now. ” 

** And that frightened you ? ” laughed Leonore. 

“Terribly. If you are that I shall have to give up law 
and politics entirely, so as to see enough of you.” 

“But what has that to do with my lunching with you ? ” 

“ Do you think I could work at law with you in the 
next room ? ” 

“Don’t you want me? I thought it was such a nice 
plan.” 

“ It is. If your other favor is like that I shan’t know 
what to say. I shall merely long for you to ask favors.” 

“This is very different. Will you try to understand 
me ? ” 

“I shan’t misunderstand you, at all events.” Which 
was a crazy speech for any man to make any woman. 

“Then, dear. I want to speak of that terrible time- 
only for a moment, dear. You mustn’t think I don’t be- 
lieve what you said. I do ! I do ! Every word of it, and 
to prove it to you I shall never speak of it again. But 
when I’ve shown you that I trust you entirely, some stormy 
evening, when we’ve had the nicest little dinner together 
at your rooms, and I’ve given you some coffee, and bitten 
your cigar for you, I shall put you down before the fire, 
and sit down in your lap, as I am doing now, and put my 
arms about your neck so, and put my cheek so. And 
then I want you, without my asking to tell me why you 
told mamma that lie, and all about it.” 

“ Dear-heart,” said Peter, “ I cannot tell. I promised.” 

“ Oh, but that didn’t include your wife, dear, of course. 
Besides, Peter, friends should tell each other everything. 
And we are the best of friends, aren’t we ? ” 


4i6 


THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING . 


“ And if I don't tell my dearest friend ? ” 

“ I shall never speak of it, Peter, but I know sometimes 
when I am by myself I shall cry over it. Not because I 
doubt you, dear, but because you won’t give me your 
confidence. ” 

“Do you know, Dear-heart, that I can’t bear the thought 
of your doing that ! ” 

“ Of course not, dear. That’s the reason I tell you. I 
knew you couldn’t bear it.” 

“ How did you know ? ” 

“ Because I understand you, dear. I know just what 
you are. I’m the only person who does. ” 

“Tell me what I am.” 

“I think, dear, that something once came into your 
life that made you very miserable, and took away all your 
hope and ambition. So, instead of trying to make a great 
position or fortune, you tried to do good to others. You 
found that you could do the most good among the poor 
people, so you worked among them. Then you found 
that you needed money, so you worked hard to get that. 
Then you found that you could help most by working in 
politics, so you did that. And you have tried to gain 
power so as to increase your power for good. I know 
you haven't liked a great deal you have had to do. I 
know that you much prefer to sit before your study fire 
and read than sit in saloons. I know that you would 
rather keep away from tricky people than to ask or take 
their help. But you have sacrificed your own feelings 
and principles because you felt that they were not to be 
considered if you could help others. And, because people 
have laughed at you or misunderstood, you have become 
silent and unsocial, except as you have believed your 
mixing with the world to be necessary to accomplish 
good. ” 

“ What a little idealist we are 1 ” 

“Well, dear, that isn’t all the little idealist has found 
out. She knows something else. She knows that all his 
life her ideal has been waiting and longing for some one 
who did understand him, so that he can tell her all his 
hopes and feelings, and that at last he has found her, and 
she will try to make up for all the misery and sacrifice he 
has endured. She knows, too, that he wants to tell her 
everything. You mustn’t think, dear, that it was only 


LEONORAS THEORY . 


417 


prying which made me ask you so many questions. I — 
I really wasn’t curious except to see if you would an- 
swer, for I felt that you didn’t tell other people your real 
thoughts and feelings, and so, whenever you told me, it 
was really getting you to say that you loved me. You 
wanted me to know what you really are. And that was 
why I knew that you told me the truth that night. And 
that is the reason why I know that some day you will tell 
me about that lie.” 

Peter, whatever he might think, did not deny the correct- 
ness of Leonore’s theories concerning his motives in the 
past or his conduct in the future. He kissed the soft 
cheek so near him, tenderly, and said : 

“ I like your thoughts about me, dear one.” 

“Of course you do,” said Leonore. “You said once 
that when you had a fine subject it was always easy fa? 
make a fine speech. It’s true, too, of thoughts, dear. 


the eno 



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